


Under the Crimson Flag

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 97,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperately running away from her past, Emma disguises herself as a boy and seeks an escape in the freedom of the open seas. All is well until she crosses paths with the infamous Captain Hook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Quarter

Her lips were dry and beginning to crack. Beads of sweat ran down her neck. The burning gaze of the sun was relentless: her thick cotton shirt clung to her back as waves of sickness rose in time with the rising temperature. The crushing binding around her chest made it hard to breathe as she pulled the thick, coarse rope over the gunwale. Each motion increased the ache between her shoulders and further numbed her tired fingers. Both palms were now criss-crossed with fine scratches so that the salty water of the ocean stung and burned her skin.

Though her fair face was red raw, her body soaked and her muscles exhausted - Emma smiled.

_She was free._

* * *

She scratched at the tufts of hair that clung to her neck and pulled her cap tighter over her ears.

The tavern was busy.

Hidden in a darkened corner, she hunched over the steaming bowl of stew, avoiding the gaze of those around her. They were mostly men: seasoned sailors with thick beards and tall tales. They laughed, smoked pipes and dealt cards - becoming louder with each sip of rum. Occasionally a bar wench walked by with a flagon of ale and offered to fill her tankard, but she shook her head and remained silent. She sat and watched and marveled.

In her old life she had seen nothing like this. There she had been hidden away - trapped -  _protected_ they had said. The adjustment to this world - the real world - had been difficult at first. She had learned to be wary, keep to herself, only interact with those she needed to. Yet still she was fascinated by their coarse words, bawdy tales and the simple earthy reality of these men of the sea.

Finally, sated enough that the only ache left was the glowing burn the sun had left behind on her skin, she pulled a few coins from her pocket and slipped out into the cool night.

Outside she decided to wander and lose herself in the narrow lanes of the part of town where they currently were docked. Its tall buildings and dark spaces provided a comforting anonymity. It had been weeks since she had been alone. The tender she had taken was a good one - a small crew, a long distance - perfect for her purpose of removing herself as far away as possible from the Enchanted Forest _._  But she longed to bathe, to remove her bindings and brush out her hair. Her fingers lingered at her cropped locks. They scraped the nape of her neck - tucked behind her ears and covered with a woolen cap. She tugged it off as she wandered - letting her fingers massage her scalp - relishing in the feeling of freedom.

In a small town square behind the tavern there was a stone well. Sitting on the low surrounding wall, she lowered its small bucket, claiming a pail of chilled water that she eagerly palmed over her face. Momentarily the burn on her skin diminished and she let the cool liquid trickily down her neck and over her chest.

Sighing, she lay back against the hoist, staring up at the dark night sky. Its infinite darkness calmed her in the moments when she began to feel regret. She liked to lie on deck and watch the twinkling of the constellations against the velvety black of the sky at night - occasionally veiled by a puff of faint cloud.

This was why she had to leave. Sweet freedom.

The vastness of possibility stretched out before her like an unwritten page. No longer was her life planned out for her in a series of orchestrated moves as though she were a chess piece. No. Now she made her own decisions.

And in some ways that was almost as terrifying as having no choice at all.

* * *

They were out on the open sea early the next morning eager to reach the next port - the quicker they changed cargoes the great the profit for a merchant seaman.

Once at sail, Emma was set to work showing the two young boys who they had picked up in port the ropes. Both were not yet in their teen years and even Emma towered above them. They looked awkward in their too big caps and baggy linen shirts.

"Do you have any questions?" Emma asked as they returned to the deck. They looked at each other uncertainly before shaking their heads. She felt sorry for them - clearly they were here to earn money for their kin. Most port families had at least one or two sons at sea. But still, they seemed so young.

After setting them to work scrubbing down the decks, she returned to her post checking the rigging.

A few minutes later a voice cried out, "Jack!"

"Aye, Captain!"

Stumbling to her feet, she raced across the deck towards the voice.

Captain Avery was a short, stout man. No more than 50, but with greying hair, a long beard and cracked skin that spoke of a life at sea. More often than not he stank of rum. Most days he rarely rose before noon, leaving the ship in the hands of his first mate, Walters. But when he was awake and on deck, Emma knew he was not to be trifled with. He had a nasty tempter and an even nastier set of cat-o-nine tails.

"Where's my sextant?"

"Pardon, Captain?"

"Are you deaf, boy?" he growled, rapping the back of his hand across her ear until she winced in pain. "My sextant. It was in my cabin."

"I'm sorry sir, I have no idea…"

Emma recoiled a little as she saw his face curl into a wicked snarl. He was still drunk, she could clearly see from his bloodshot eyes and pink cheeks, probably had no idea what he was doing.

"Liar," he spat, baring his teeth.

She flinched, tensing her muscles, anticipating another whack around the head - it seemed she had been chosen as his whipping boy for the day.

"Captain! Captain!"

The cries from the crow's next tore away his attention. High on the mast, a scrawny boy was waving his arms and gesturing to a point high on the horizon.

Growling, Avery stomped to the bow and pulled out his telescope.

Emma squinted against the morning sun that was now high in the sky, covering her eyes with her hand as she strained to see what had caused such consternation.

Then there is was: a flicker, a flash.

Blood red, lit from behind by the sun - like a glowing ruby. A flag. A red flag.

Emma sucked in a breath and felt her stomach drop.  _Pirates._

* * *

Heavy breathing.

Shouting.

The crisp clash of metal.

The muffled crack of musket fire.

She ran across deck - her heart racing, two full buckets of water in her arms. The lower aft sail had begun to burn. She tossed the contents of the bucket at the crackling fire but it had little effect - merely eliciting a soft hiss of defiance from the flames.

Exhausted, she stumbled back towards the water butt.

The ship was almost upon them. The speed of its advancement had taken the crew by surprise. Avery dashed about - bellowing harsh demands, his face red and swollen. Walters was little calmer - pitching in himself to raise the sails higher in an attempt to raise some speed.

But Emma knew it was useless.

Her kingdom had had one of the best navys in all the realms and she knew this ship was old and slow compared to the lithe manoeuvrability of their approaching boat glided through the sea as if it were silk. Soon she could see the pink blurs of faces, then the rigging ropes of their sails came into focus, until finally they were at their side. Boarding ladders were hung, shots fired, screams rose, blackened smoke filled the air - then, darkness…

* * *

Her hands were tied behind her back.

Her head ached, a dull throb at her brow. She winced.

Something must have hit her head. She wriggled against the ropes and they dug into her skin.

Carefully, she peeled open her eyes and looked around. The deck was awash with the crimson dampness of spilled blood. She saw their attackers checking the few bodies that lay around her. They gave each one a swift kick to the side or head before they were heaved over the gunwale into the water. Glancing to her left, she was just in time to see the battered and bloodied face of Captain Avery before it disappeared over the helm. Her stomach clenched in fear.

Beside her were a few other crew - Smith the chef and the young lads they had just collected in port. They looked at each other: the boys were shaking a little, their eyes wide and glassy. Smith's face was fixed in a firm grimace. Breath shaking, she looked back towards their attackers.

"Captain on deck!" came a cry from behind them.

Emma straightened up. Praying her hat was still pulled down, curving her shoulders to hide her bound chest. She didn't know how, or if, she was going to survive this, but the thought of them discovering she was a woman filled her with dread. She had heard what happened to women in the hands of pirates. It was a fate worse than death.

She dipped her head, eyes focusing on a discarded dagger that lay in a bubbling pool of watery blood. Heavy footsteps rounded the small group.

Her heart was hammering against her chest now. She clenched her fists until the crescents of her nails pinched each palm.

"On your feet for the Captain!"

Suddenly she felt harsh fingers digging into her shoulder and pulling her roughly to stand.

To her right she heard Smith swear and hiss before he spat a large glob of spittle on the deck.

"Mind your mouth!" called the same voice - she looked up and saw it belonged to a tall, thin man - a patch over his eye and a red bandana around his head.

"Make me," sneered Smith.

Emma wanted to quiet him, tell him to back down. Instead he stepped forward and the next thing she knew a sword was being drawn by the pirate, quickly piercing his stomach until he curled over into a ball as the blade withdrew. Blood began to seep across the deck, mingling with that which was already there and Smith moaned in agony. Emma froze.

"Well that was unfortunate," came another voice, silky and deep.

It belonged to the owner of the heavy footsteps from a moment ago. Emma's gaze trailed across the deck towards its source.

Black boots. A heavy leather coat that reached past his ankles. At the end of both sleeves, each cuff was edged in heavy brocade. She caught her breath when she saw his left hand ended in a gleaming, silver hook.

She had heard of this pirate. HIs reputation reached even to the Enchanted Forest and her kingdom - even though he and his ship had never been sighted in their waters. He was famous for giving no quarter to those he captured. The pirate with one hand -  _Captain Hook_.

"Well, what do we have here?" he laughed, his eyes dancing over the three figures. Emma tried to step in front of them - shield them from his gaze with her body.

None of the three replied.

"Well, speak up boys!"

The smaller of the two boys was shaking, small tears running down his cheek. "Please sir, captain, please don't kill me. Please." Softly, he began to sob. She hazarded a glance at the pirate captain. His face and hair were dark to match his reputation, but she could have sworn she saw a flicker of something pass over his face - something lighter.

"Well boy, today you may be in luck. It is true that I take no quarter under normal circumstances - releasing my captives is not good for the reputation!"

A deep rumbling laughter arose from his fellow pirates.

"But you see I find myself in need of a couple of deck hands ahead of a long voyage. So which two of you are going to join my crew?"

The three looked at each other, Emma saw her own fear reflected in the boys faces. She knew what they thought, what would happen to the other one…

Her stomach lurched.

"What about the other?" Emma asked, her own voice surprising her with how calm it sounded.

The captain gazed down at her. She met his eyes - they were bluer than the sea. They seemed so out of place within all the dark and leather that enveloped his body.

"What do you think?" he purred, running his tongue along his bottom lip as he spoke.

_Death._

She felt flat and dull. The two boys were crying harder now.

So that was it. Her freedom had lasted less than six months. There was no choice. She couldn't let harm come to them.

"Take the boys. They are young, they have done no wrong."

A few heavy steps and she felt cool metal under her chin, raising her head.

She looked into his eyes again. Now they were so close. She could see their dark rim of kohl and the deep blue that banded the lighter azure. They were almost hypnotising. Deadly even.

"And who do we have here?"

"Jack," she croaked, "Jack Swan. Deck hand."

"Hmm," he mused, tilting his head and raising his brow. The tip of his hook nicked her neck as he tilted it higher and she felt a cool trickle of blood roll down her throat. "Quite brave for a deck hand."

"Bravery is not reserved for officers, captain," she replied flatly, refusing to break her gaze.

And damn him he smiled. A broad, wicked smile full of pearly white teeth which made her want to pull back in fear.

"So it seems." His eyes flickered over her face and she swallowed slowly. Her heart was beating so heavily in her chest she was sure he must be able to hear it. His lips curved into a half smile and he raised a brow. It was almost as if he were mocking her.

But then the mask of amusement dropped and she saw a sliver of something else - something true and real beneath the pirate's gaze. Her brow furrowed as a moment passed in silent observation.

Then, with a small laugh he dropped her chin and walked away, pausing at the bow for a few seconds before he twisted on his heel.

"Change of plan. The boys will do as deck hands. But you - I think I want you as my cabin boy. Can you clean?"

She nodded briefly.

"Polish?"

She nodded again.

"Good," he smiled.

With no further words he walked away and Emma's knees collapsed beneath her. The two boys clung to her arms as their sobs became more muted.

She watched him walk away, sinking slowly back to her knees, the throb in her head returning and blocking out all thoughts and worries.

She had survived. For now.

**Please review if you can... I'd like to know your thoughts on this story!**


	2. Jack

A/N  _Okay - just a heads up, the POV will change throughout this story. This chapter is from Hook's POV. Just a short chapter today - this was so hard to write for some reason! Next chapter we pick up from Emma's POV._

Sleep was an all too rare release for him. He could not recall the last night he had slept through without waking at some ungodly hour - well, not counting those drunken stupors he often found himself when accompanied to his quarters by a bottle of rum.

Around his small cabin the evidence of long burned candles and books half read were testament to the hours the captain spent wiling away the darkness of night, unable to succumb to the sweet peace of slumber. Yet trying to occupy his mind with soothing words was a futile exercise.

That night was like so many more that had come before: painful insomnia followed by a few hours of fitful, broken sleep that ended as the first rays of daylight broke through the small, square windows that looked out over the aft of the ship. Dawning consciousness was accompanied by the pounding ache of a tired mind and dull, leaden limbs that begged for respite.

So many sleepless nights had taken their toll. He knew his eyes sagged and he had been even sharper with his crew than usual - something that irked him as he had always considered himself a fair captain. Well, for a pirate.

Up on deck he could hear the sounds of the first men waking and attending to their posts. He sighed and turned onto his stomach so his face was buried in the feather pillow upon which he lay. His hands slid under the fabric and circled around a small pouch - velvet and tied with a piece of silk cord. Pulling it to himself, he quickly unraveled the closure and poured the contents onto the bed. A small silver ring, inlaid with jade. A lock of brown hair tied with a blue ribbon. A small glass perfume vial, long since empty.

He pulled the lock of hair through his fingers a few times. It was still soft but showing the signs of age - the color had dulled a little and the strands had started to fray and thin. He rubbed it against his cheek before bringing it to his lips and placing a kiss upon the curl. Next, he slipped the ring onto his smallest finger and used his thumb to turn it slowly. He remembered when she bought that ring - it was in some port in a distant kingdom he couldn't recall the name of. He'd told her to barter but she had her heart set on it and paid the vendor an obscene sum. His gaze focused on the squares of jade that were set along the surface: almost the color of her eyes.

Finally, he pulled the small cork stopper from the perfume. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply. The scent of flowers mixed with spicy, exotic notes filled his senses and brought a memory to the forefront of his mind: there she was, sitting at his desk, brushing out her hair, smiling at him,  _Milah_ -

His heart felt tight and he quickly closed the bottle and placed the items back in the pouch, stowing them inside his pillow: hidden, safe.

This was his ritual. Every morning, without fail. This was his promise to himself - he would never forget her. Never. And one day he would find those responsible for her death.

His leather pants were lying at the bottom of his bed and he tugged them on, loosely lacing them before sitting at his desk. There was a small, worn mirror in front of him. He observed himself carefully - his eyes were as dim as ever, their blue fading into a slate grey. It was getting harder to hide his tiredness.

He pulled the lid from the pot of kohl beside the mirror and picked up the pointed wooden tool he used to outline his eyes. His tongue darted out and moistened the tip before he dipped it in the powder until it formed into a thick paste which he began to expertly apply to the edges of his lids. Every stroke brought with it darkness - an air of mystery almost. He felt the demeanor of his rank descending - pirate captain: dark, ruthless and deadly.

The task compete, he stood and turned to the small chest to his right, sliding open one of the ancient drawers - the oak whining slightly in protest. Just as he was reaching for a shirt, there was a rustling at his door followed by the creaking twist of a lock opening and the sound of wood scraping against wood.

Turning, he scowled as he saw his intruder.

"Oh,"the boy paused and his mouth dropped open, "Captain, I'm sorry! I thought-"

Anger bristled inside - blended with fatigue and the remnants of faded grief. "What are you doing, you cretin? Are you so uncivilized as to not know manners? Knock!"The words were especially harsh and biting making the boy flinch and the captain felt a small twinge of triumph flush through his veins.

He saw the boy shake and his cheeks blush: he looked young, Killian thought. Not yet of the age to shave, small with a queer, quiet sort of voice. Somewhat odd, but nothing much surprised the seaman after half a life spent on the ocean.

"Thought what?"he cried, widening his eyes and twisting his mouth into a pronounced snarl.

"Please captain, I beg your forgiveness,"the boy dipped his head and pulled off his cap, clutching it to his chest. It revealed a short mop of light golden hair that hung over the boy's eyes like a curtain.

He was shaking. That pleased him.

"Consider yourself warned, boy. Next time I will not be so  _generous._ Now get the fuck out of here!"

Nodding, the boy quickly backed out and closed the door with a loud click.

Alone again, Killian looked at himself in the mirror. His anger had brought out a slight flush of color. He smiled and went back to pulling on his shirt.

Xoxoxox

One tanned hand rested upon the wheel as his hook circled one of the spokes, gently tilting it from time to time as he stared out at the endless blue ocean. Despite its beauty and the soothing scent of the sea air, he felt numb.

The sea, once his constant comfort, was now almost a torment. Time had seemed to blend into itself, becoming a blur of events with little distinction between each day, week or even year. Days spent commanding his crew and seeking bounty. Nights in celebration of spoils, an evening in port with a woman or two to warm his bed, then off again. It was all he had ever dreamed of as a boy - leading his own crew, the freedom of the seas…But for some time now it had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It had begun when she had died. He had mourned. He had drank. He had cursed the heads of those who had caused her death.

He had damned himself in that order too: for in a way, he had played his hand in her fate. He had attacked the ship, he had gotten greedy when he saw a royal standard…

Reaching for his flask of rum, he pushed the thoughts away.

"Smee!"

The small, rotund crewman came bumbling over, his red woolen cap bobbing on his head as he made his way.

"I haven't got all day,"he scolded, unlatching his hook from the wheel.

"Yes, Captain?"panted Smee, pushing his cap back from where it had fallen over his eyes.

A bored expression crossed Killian's face as he looked over his shoulder to the men working on mending the sails at the port side of the ship. "How long until we reach Arcadia Island?"

Smee fumbled in his pockets, muttering to himself until he pulled out a greasy, creased piece of parchment. "Well, sir, according to the map we found in port, Blake insists it's less than 12 hours journey south of here."

"Hmm,"murmured Killian, bringing his hook up to scratch at his beard, "Nightfall will soon be upon us. Tell Blake to keep us anchored out of port until sunrise - I want the whole island to know I have arrived. Make sure the flag is hoisted high."

"Aye Captain, any other orders?"

His mind told him to make some quip, a belittling remark to remind his inferior of his place, but instead he straightened his back and released the wheel, "Take over,"he commanded, "I have matters to attend to."

"Yes sir,"nodded Smee.

Quick, heavy steps led him to his cabin. He shucked off his heavy coat and sighed. His muscles ached from lack of sleep and his skin was parched from a day spent on deck. Yanking open the cabin door, he barked, "Boy!"

Scrambled footsteps ended when the figure of his new cabin boy stood at the top of the short ladder to the deck.

"I am to take a bath. Make the preparations."

The boy nodded, scampering away as Killian closed the door.

Busying himself, he pulled off his boots as the heavy, tin bath, that only he used, was hauled into the room. Sitting at his desk, he watched with disinterest as wooden pails of water were carried into the room and poured into it - the level slowly rising as he undid the leather straps of his brace and began to pull off his shirt.

Emptying on final bucket, the boy paused, bucket swinging nervously in his hands, his eyes on the floor.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

Killian tossed his shirt to the bed, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. "Can you read?"he asked, his fingers working at the laces of his pants.

"Yes sir,"whispered the boy.

"An educated sailor, interesting," mused Killian. Licking his lips, he stretched up his arms and yawned, "Well then, you can be of some further use boy. Rather than risk a volume's destruction in these waters, you may read to me."

"Aye, Captain,"the boy mumbled, shuffling on his feet as he took the book Killian held out to him.

The boy stepped back to rest on the rungs of the ladder. Killian turned and looked at him, "Something the matter boy?"he asked, the boy's eyes still trained on the floor.

"No-no…"

"Whatever then has happened to the foolishly brave lad who stood up to me the other day?"

"Just a little out of sorts, Captain, I apologize,"he replied as he slid his fingers through the pages of the book. "Gulliver's Travels," he whispered.

"You know it?"

"Yes sir, it was one of my favourite books as a child. I always dreamed, like Gulliver did, of traveling and seeing the world…"

Killian cocked up his head and saw a strange expression cross the boy's face. One of whimsy mixed with a flash of pain. He briefly wondered what the boy's story was. Every crewman had one. Mostly they were sad tales that had turned into bitter memories, shared over flagons of ale. He felt no pity for these men, life is hard after all, but perhaps one day he would ask the boy what had haunted him at so young an age.

Easing out of his leather trousers, he grabbed his washcloth and soap from his dresser and sank into the lukewarm water with a deep sigh. "Chapter four,"he commanded.

The boy's quiet voice was oddly soothing and melodic. He read with the practised fluidity that was rare in a seaman. Each word was wrapped in his soft accent - Enchanted Forest he surmised - and the found himself being lulled into a peaceful state. Killian closed his eyes and the words became indistinct as exhaustion began to overwhelm him.

Suddenly he flashed open his eyes, clawing for consciousness. Pushing away the urge to sleep, he grabbed the cloth and the gnarled bar of soap and began to wash over his body in quick, rough strokes.

The voice stopped and Killian looked up.

"That's the end of the chapter,"the boy explained, still avoiding the captain's gaze, "Shall I continue?"

Sighing, Killian brushed the soap over the cloth and shook his head, "No boy, that's enough."He gave a tense smile as the boy stood and made to leave.

"Captain?"he asked, "May I ask something?" His voice was a little louder, a little braver. Killian raised his head and looked at the boy, he was holding the book to his chest. He was slight - smaller than he had earlier realised. But his countenance was noble, his cheeks high and his mouth pink - flushed with youth, pretty almost…

"Go on."

"Jack, sir. My name is Jack. You keep calling me boy, so perhaps you had forgotten. If we are to be acquainted so, we should perhaps be on more familiar terms."

"Of course, boy- Jack. If you are to be my cabin lad, a name would be useful. You may call me Captain Jones." Killian paused and began to work the cloth over his chest, "Where do you bunk now?"

"In the hold sir, with the other low seamen."

Killian straightened his leg and rested it on the edge of the bath, sending out a wave of water that had Jack stepping backwards towards the door with a small yelp. Killian raised his brow in amusement.

"Well that is of no use to me lad. There is a small cabin, well perhaps more a cupboard just outside these quarters. I will need you there to tend to my needs."

"Yes, Captain,"he nodded, "I shall make the arrangements."

"Good."

Jack turned and placed his foot not the small ladder to the door.

"And Jack?"asked Killian as he sat up straighter in the water, "I'm a light sleeper so expect to be needed at any hour."

He nodded once more and quickly exited the cabin.

**Reviews are so valuable to me and appreciated!**


	3. Hindsight

It was getting harder with each passing day.

In hindsight, the decision she had taken to turn to the sea for her escape had been a hasty one. Flavored, indeed, by the stories she had read of adventures upon the high seas that had filled a whole section of books in the great library at home.

A ship was a claustrophobic atmosphere at the best of times. But the Jolly Roger was a hundred times more oppressing than any of the other tenders she had acquired over the preceding six months. The quarters were crowded: in the lower hold 20 men shared a space perhaps fit for ten. The lack of even a semblance of privacy was challenging. It added to the general tense air and underlying aggression that seemed to flow among the crew.

Perhaps she should have chosen to escape into the forests or the mountains. She had been told of the wandering bands who lived in these places; heard tales of how they sometimes took in lone travelers and assimilated them into their ranks. Perhaps…

But, it was too late for regrets.

She was still shaking a little from today’s encounters with the captain. For all she had stood up against him to protect the young boys when the ship was taken, she knew well enough to be fearful of this man.

His reputation was infamous and news of his deeds had spread as far as the Enchanted Forest - far inland from any port. Tales of murder, thievery and blackmail swirled around the local taverns and the lower quarters of the castle. Folk who live a quiet life are keen to indulge in the more salacious stories that are bandied around. So much that Emma knew that every bawdy tale must be taken with at least a healthy pinch of salt. Still, she knew pirates were to be feared and fear him she did.

Never having met a pirate captain, she was unsure what to expect, but she knew to fear. However, she had found him confusing in his demeanor. One moment he was shouting and aggressive, then in another instant he was quiet, calm, almost pensive.

She couldn’t deny that he was handsome - well, more so than the toothless and scarred band of men who crewed the ship. While she was reading, she had snuck a glance at him while he bathed. His skin was darkened form the sun and covered in a layer of light hair; lean muscles lined his torso. He looked strong. Indeed he was not the first man she had seen bare - she was not so innocent was one would expect a princess to see - but still, she was fascinated.

There had been men - well, boys really. Although she had resisted all attempts at finding her a suitor, she was past her teen years and keenly felt the yearnings of a woman. A dalliance with a stable boy here, stolen kisses with the miller’s son who brought that grain had led to her a growing hunger for greater carnal knowledge that had been satisfied one night by a young lieutenant in the realms army when he had snuck into her quarters. And he hadn’t been the last of her conquests.

But looking at this pirate -this strapping man, she felt a different stirring than these stolen moments had provided her. While they had been young - enthusiastic, yes, but young, this man’s body bore the evidence of a life lived. Those men she had touched and explored, had soft, mostly bare skin, their bodies quivered when she touched them, almost seemed afraid of her, in awe perhaps.

She imagined, with a pirate such things would be different. For a moment her mind envisaged his strong arms around her waist, being pressed against his firm chest and rubbing her cheek over the chest hair that so fascinated her. Perhaps he would let his lips trail over her body - how divine would that beard feel scraping her skin. Then his hand and hook would explore the rest of her…

No, he was a pirate. She must shake those thoughts away.

_Pirates._

 

Was she a pirate now? Perhaps she was. The thought inadvertently made her smile - imagining look on her stepmother’s face should the news make it back to her. It was one thing to be a runaway princess, but the scandal of her turning to piracy would make quite the intrigue around court.

Yet in honesty, she knew she was nothing more than a glorified prisoner: trapped on this ship with no means of escape. The tales of what pirates did to deserters had also passed by her ears and she shivered at the memory of shark infested waters and men being garroted and hung from the stern as a warning to others. And she a woman, too - gods, she could only imagine what terrors would await her if she were discovered.

So, it was with some relief that Emma began to prepare the small room that was to be her cabin - stringing across her hammock and hanging her small bag of belongings on a nail that dug into the coarse wooden walls. The space was small, with one tiny, circular window that did not open. At least this afforded some light - the hold had been dark and the whale oil lamps that had lit it were smoky and made everything stink with the scent of burnt blubber.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time she had finished emptying the captain’s cabin of the bath and removed herself to her own space. She found a small candle on a shelf that lined one side of the room - she blew away the layer of grey dust that coated it and searched in her pockets for a match.

The candle cast a warm glow over the room. Quiet, so quiet. Just the creak of timbers and the occasional crash of a wave against the hull.

Emma let her body relax for the first time in days. Reaching under her shirt, she began to unravel the long strip of linen that was binding her small breasts to her chest, sucking in a deep breath at the freedom. Dipping her hand in her bag, she pulled out the small worn volume - the only book she had cared to bring with her.

Settling into the hammock, she ran a finger across the faded, gilded title that was embossed into the red fabric cover, ‘Gulliver’s Travels’. Smiling, she opened the book and began to read.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest - six months earlier_

Sliding her fingers between the thick, velvet folds of her dress, they quickly circled the cold metal of the scissors. They were heavy - dressmaking shears stolen from her seamstress’s workroom that afternoon, after she had visited upon the guise of requesting a new riding habit. When Mathilde’s back was turned, she had pocketed the item, hiding her theft with a sunny smile.

So now she stood in front of the long, gilded mirror that hung from one wall. One finger slipped through the handle and she dangled the shears at her side, letting them swing softly as she ran her fingers through her hair with the other hand. 

With her finger and thumb, she rolled a few strands together, sadly watching the way they glinted in the candlelight of her room. A tear gathered in the corner of her eye as she steeled herself for what she must do.

What a silly, sentimental girl, she thought. Becoming upset over a few locks! She knew that to hide herself, she needed to try and pass as a boy and that was simply impossible with a tumbling mane of golden hair.

Her mind wandered back to her younger days. Sitting on her mother’s knee while she ran a brush through her hair and told her tales of fighting ogres and witches, then she would twist the strands into elaborate braids and kiss her goodnight. How she missed her.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to plait it, tying the hair at both ends with strips of blue ribbon. She slipped off her gown, tossing it over a chair until she was stood just in her white cotton chemise. With slight hesitation, she picked up the shears again, hand shaking as she brought them to the nape of her neck. Widening the blades, her heart began to race as she readied them, poised around her locks.

She couldn’t look. Tightly squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed the scissors closed, flinching at the loud snip as they sliced though her hair. Instantly, she felt tendrils begin to curl around her face. Peeling open an eye, she ran her tongue over her lips: the damage was done. No use crying now over vanity. Resolved, she brought the blades back to her neck and continued her task.

~~~

Minutes later it was done. In one hand her shorn braid, in the other, the scissors - covered in small pieces of blonde hair. She dropped them to the table and reached up to tuck the remaining strands behind her ears. Better, she thought, but still feminine looking.

She walked over the chest at the foot of her bed, unlocking it with the small key she kept around her neck on a long, hidden chain. Inside were more of the fruits of the past few weeks of work.

Two sets of boys clothes - cobbled together from items stolen from the laundry and the stable boys quarters. Thick linen shirts and hyde trousers with patterned scarves to wrap around her neck. Underneath laid a pair of battered boots - a little large, but fine enough for her purpose - and finally a brown, twill jacket and a leather napsack. 

Tugging off her chemise, she stared at her naked form in the mirror one last time. Her curves and pale skin - so prized in a princess - were now to be hidden. For how long, she did not know. Long enough to get far away - wherever that was.

From the bag, she pulled out a strip of linen she had made by shredding a bed sheet and slowly, carefully wrapped it around her chest. It was a little painful and she was thankful for her modest bust. She wrapped the material around her body five or six times before she was happy, tucking the end in upon itself; turning her body to the side and checking her shape.

As a princess, she had been taught to pull her shoulders back and hold her head high, but she soon saw that to disguise her figure further, curved shoulders and a dipped chin were necessities.

Happy enough, she tugged on the loose clothing, knotting the trousers at her waist with a thick leather belt and tucking in the shirt before tugging out enough material to negate the possibility of the bandages being seen. 

Finally, she reached into the bag and pulled out a grey, woolen cap. The wool was thick. She pulled it over her head - it did a good job of covering her hair, only a few strands sipped below it. With her fingers, she lowered the hat until it hid her eyebrows and most of her head. 

Swallowing, she looked at her transformed self. 

She certainly no longer looked like a princess. But a boy - a sailor? She wasn’t sure. To be true, she was too clean: she needed to dirty her face and hands. 

It was too late to worry about such things now. Tonight was the night and within the hour her escape would be made.

Moving over to her bed, she sat and waited.

* * *

 

“Boy!”

The banging on the door shook Emma from her slumber. The copy of ‘ Gulliver’s Travels’  slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor.

For a moment she was lost - where was she? This was not her chambers, her room-

The memory dawned like a wave. Pushing back her hair, she grabbed her hat, stumbling for the door just as it swung open.

“Boy! I’ve been calling for you for an age.”

“Sorry Captain, I was asleep-“

“Don’t waste my time with your excuses,” he hissed, giving her a steely eyed stare. “Here,” he snapped, thrusting a long, black pair of boots into her hands. “Polish these, we are going ashore.”

Her mind spun.  _Ashore?_

“Sir, Captain - I thought we were to be a sea for weeks-“

“A minor diversion,” the captain replied, his eyes dropping from her face to her half open shirt. Instantly Emma’s hands went to her chest, gathering together the open sides in one palm, holding the boots tight against her body. Suddenly she was acutely aware of her breasts - her nipples hardened in the cool air, and perhaps a little due to his gaze upon her. She prayed he couldn’t see-

A curious look crossed his face, before he stepped back, turning to his cabin.

“We make shore in an hour,” he barked, as heavy footsteps led him away.

 

_**Thank you for all your wonderful support and reviews - I appreciate them more than you could ever know!** _


	4. Shore Leave - Part One

_**A/N - Thank you for all the wonderful reviews/follows/favourites! This chapter had a lot of 'plot' but I promise next chapter is all about our pirate and our princess!** _

"Captain, is this stop really necessary? We took on supplies not ten days ago and-"

"Are you questioning my command?"Killian sneered, leaning over the smaller man.

"No - not at all Captain, it's just the men, well, they were hoping to learn more of our purpose for this journey."

Across the deck, the anchor was being hauled in. The sky had turned a burnt orange shade as the sun began to peek over the horizon. In the distance lay the shadowed outline of Arcadia Island.

"All in due course, Mr. Smee. Tell them to man their posts and they will be rewarded. Question me and, well, there will be consequences…"

"Of course, Sir,"Smee nodded. He turned to leave and then hesitated, his fingers pulling on the wool cap that covered his ears. His feet shuffled against the roughened planks of the deck as he chewed on his lip.

"Spit it out,"hissed Killian - his annoyance at the dawdling seaman expressed by an exasperated sigh.

Stepping closer, Smee dipped his voice, "Is this about her, sir? I mean, we tracked down the last man from that ship over a year ago-"

"Mind your mouth! You  _know_  you are never to speak of her,"growled Killian, stepping closer, turning his head to look aft of the ship as he brought his lips near the other man's ear, "My motivations are my own and private they shall remain until I see fit to do otherwise. Is that clear?" As he spoke, he reached inside his thick leather coat and pulled out a leather covered flask from the small internal pocket.

"Yes, sir, I meant no offense, sir-"

"Leave,"spat Killian, as he tugged on the cork stopper of his flask and sank back a mouthful of spiced rum, running his tongue over the sticky residue that coated his lips.

The quivering crewman backed away, shoulders hunched and holding the captains gaze for moment with a worried brow, until he turned on his hell and hurried below deck.

Killian took a final look across at the island before he turned and stalked back to his cabin.

Slamming the door, he sat at his desk: the lacquered surface was covered in deep pitted marks and the color was faded - hinting at a long and eventful past. Producing a small, dark key from his pocket, he slid it into the keyhole that lay semi-hidden on the desk's side. The drawer needed a little coaxing to open, the wood groaning and squeaking as it pushed against itself, but finally when it was open a little, he dipped in his fingers and pulled out a small, leather purse.

He quickly unfastened the silver buckle that held it closed and shook the item to release its contents onto the desk.  _Revenge,_ he smiled to himself.

Mr. Smee was perhaps more perceptive that he gave him credit for. Yes, this was mission of vengeance, but no - not for her, not for Milah. Her honor was reclaimed the day the last man from the ship that had taken her life had walked the plank into shark-infested waters. That day he had made his peace with her fate. Well - almost.

The silver pendant on the desk twinkled in the early morning light that was filtering into his cabin. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the rounded nugget, half the size of a doubloon. The metal was smooth under his thumb and cold to the touch. He turned in over - punched into the other side was a simple design: a swan surrounded by a circle. Tangling his fingers into the chain, he tightened his fingers around the necklace.

"Brother,"he whispered into his fist, "Now is your turn. I have nearly found him."

He thought back to the day Liam had died. Gods, it had been eight years almost.

Liam had gone ashore alone to barter - despite Killian's protests he had assured him he was more than capable of taking care of himself. The men were needed to prepare the ship for their next journey. He was the captain, after all, and Killian had reluctantly agreed.

Hours later, he still had not returned. The crew had gone to search the small town they had laid anchor aside. Into the night they looked, bearing torches when dusk had fallen. Panic had begun to rise in Killian, finding its substance when the barely breathing body of Captain Liam Jones had been discovered, partially hidden in scrubland at the edge of the town.

He spoke no words - his throat pierced in such a way it rendered it impossible. But in his hands was a purse - the same purse now locked in this drawer.

Killian had cradled his brother in his arms as he bled to death from a series of dagger wounds to his chest and stomach. The blood. All that blood…Crimson as the pirate flag, it had stained his hands for days. As he took his last breath he had stared into Killian's eyes, his own darkening as the seconds tick by, finally slipping closed as all strength escaped his body.

So it had fallen on Killian then to be captain of the Jolly Roger. A job he was perhaps ill experience for in the best of circumstances, being somewhat young and foolish- having always deferred to his older brother's judgement in the past.

And in his grief, he became reckless - attacking ships with little preparation, engaging in risky behavior and treating his crew with a manner bordering on contempt. To all who observed, he seemed set on joining his brother in a young death. Even losing his hand in a sword fight with a band of barbarianshad not even checked him.

She had saved him.

Milah.

They had met in a tavern, in a seedier part of the Eastern realm. He had been attracted to her instantly - with her glossy dark curls and bright blue eyes - and when she had taken him for the contents of his purse in a game of dice, he was smitten.

When she was around, his sorrow had lifted. He'd tucked away the purse; almost forgotten it.

Until she wasn't there anymore, killed in an attack gone wrong and he was alone again.

And now was the time to find the story of this necklace. It was unique; he had shown it to many merchants in the interceding years with no success. But he knew it held the key to his brother's murder.

After many enquiries, he had been given information about a jeweler on this island where they docked, a specialist in unique items and a craftsman of unique talent.

Slipping the pendant back into the pouch, he pushed it inside of his vest.

In his gut he felt a certainty that today he would finally get some answers - today he would be on the trail to discover the truth about his brother's murder.

* * *

"Come on boy, we don't have all day."

Emma hurried after the captain, the heavy bundle on her back pressing into her spine as she dodged puddles and rocks on the roughhewn path from the dock. She watched with dismay as the boots she had polished to a glossy shine were splashed with muddy water as the captain carelessly stomped ahead. A wave of irritation rose that she struggled to bite back - now was not the time to make herself disagreeable to his man. But perhaps one day she would be able to reveal her true grit and fire.

"Coming sir,"she panted, wondering why a stronger man hadn't been chosen for this task. Emma was tall for a girl, but still narrow in the shoulders and slighter than a man. Certainly slight of build, for a boy. There were many other crewmen on the ship with more obvious strength and stamina. She sighed in frustration and pushed on.

They reached the settlement soon thereafter. It was old - ancient even. The buildings were in a style with which she was not familiar: greyed walls that must once have been white and flat roofs that hung over each doorway in a sort of veranda.

The streets were quiet. Only a few people made their way, carrying baskets and wrapped in cloaks as they went about their business. The ground here was not much better than the trail from the dock - worn cobbles were pressed into the soil, weeds and grass peeking through their cracks. Many of the stones were missing. One had to be careful not to misstep and take a tumble and twist an ankle.

All around, the atmosphere felt eerie and it was ghostly quiet. The place seemed like it may have been grand once - she spied the peeling remnants of elaborate painted murals on some of the walls and broken panes of colored glass that decorated small windows above each door. Climbing plants and vines crawled up the walls of many of the buildings, giving the place an abandoned, almost jungle like, air.

Scattered from place to place were ruined statues and monuments - they looked to be made from a kind of blue stone that she had never seen before. It was weathered and worn: some looked as though they could once have been people, but were now they were lacking limbs and their faces had been smoothed into nothingness.

"What is this place?"she muttered without realizing.

Ahead of her, the captain stopped and looked back. "This, my boy, is Arcadia Island - well, what's left of it. Once the capital of a great empire that stretched over many realms."

"What happened to it?"

She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth for being so familiar - but he didn't seem to mind. Instead he turned to face her.

"No one knows. The people vanished, overnight they say. It's a mystery." He seemed lost in thought for a second, a curious look crossing his face before he continued along the cobbled street.

Her mind began to fill with questions about the people who had once lived here - what had become of them? Who were they?

Emma felt the want of knowledge keenly. There was so much that she had yet to learn of the world. Her education as a princess had been one of books and poise and languages. Not one of much value away from the confines of the palace walls. Not one of value in the world she had now decided to live.

"And he we are,"announced the captain as they arrived at a row of low slung buildings aside a small, dried up fountain - a statue of a leaping fish at its center, poised in midair abreast a crashing wave covered in a layer of faded and chipped blue enamel. He pointed to the third doorway. It was low and the door was made of dark wood, covered in a thick layer of green, glossy moss. Above it, was a small sign, the lettering barely legible due to the passage of time, but the gold, looping shapes glinted just enough in the daylight for Emma to make out, ' _A. Abernester, Master Jeweler'_.

Curious, she thought, as he advanced towards it and then gestured for her to wait by the door, "Stay here,"he ordered.

She slunk to the ground, slinging the sack in front of her, her back pressed against the wall. It was late morning, but the sun had yet to pierce the dense foliage that covered Arcadia. Everything was tinged in bluish-grey light. She shivered again, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she waited.

It was so quiet. No birds sang. There was no breeze.

Eyes sliding closed, she laid her head back against the wall. Tired, she began to fall into a gentle slumber…

* * *

"Mr. Abernaster, you must be able to tell me something of this necklace. Your reputation stretches for many leagues- I was assured-"

"Well,  _Captain,_ people can be wrong."

Inside, the shop was small and dark. The air was stale and damp and stung his nostrils as he adjusted to the atmosphere. He had found the owner dozing in a chair, a book open in his lap, his head rolled to one side.

The old man was rolling the pendant between finger and thumb. Against his eye was a monocle, slightly scuffed and attached to his vest by a tarnished gold chain. His lips were dry and cracked - every few words his slug-like tongue darted out to moisten them.

"I will reward handsomely any information that will lead me to the discovery of my brother's murderer."To prove his point, Killian reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold doubloons, stretching them out to within the jeweler's grasp, before snatching them away and leaning over the table that separated them.

"Now please, look once more."

The old man's mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the prize on offer. He rolled his shoulders and brought the nugget of silver closer to his eye, quietly studying it as Killian waited impatiently, tapping his foot.

Squinting, the jeweler crinkled his brow, his paper thin skin wrinkling into innumerable lines on his sloping forehead. "Perhaps…"he began.

"Perhaps?"pressed Killian, resting his hook on the small table between them.

"Long ago, as a lad, I was apprenticed to a craftsman. He was one of the best - had worked for many powerful royal families in his time. He kept a log book as a record of all his designs - as reference, if you will. As his student, this book was key to our learning and I studied it many, many times. I believe that this pendant was the work of this man."

Killian sucked in a breath as his heart began to thud in his chest. A flush rose as he listened to the graveled voice of the old man telling his tale. "And what can you tell me of its owner?"

Abernaster clicked his tongue and twisted his mouth, "It was so long ago…"

Wordlessly Killian tossed a few gold coins onto the table. The jeweler's eyes flashed to the glinting metal, then he looked up at Killian.

"You test an old man, pirate. But, if I am correct, I believe it was made for an infant princess named Ava, her family had some connection to water or lakes- the Northern Kingdom I believe,"Abernaster waved his hand in the air and shook his head a little.

Narrowing his eyes, Killian wracked his mind for the name Ava….

"Wait - is this the same woman who became queen of the Enchanted Forest?"

Abernaster shrugged, "Perhaps - I am not one to keep up much with the politics of the outside world. I like my solitude. Why else would I live here?"he asked, his voice trailing off into a cackling laugh as he enjoyed his own wit.

"Indeed,"mumbled Killian. He wrapped the chain of the necklace around his finger and returned it to its pouch. "Well, if that is all the information you have-"

"Oh, Captain - can I not interest you in some trinket or jewel before you leave? A man such as yourself must have a lady or two tucked away in port who would be thankful of a pretty bauble."

Killian eyed the dark wooden cabinets that lined the wall - covered in a dusty layer, their glass uneven and crudely made - barely fit for the gems and precious metals that lay inside them.

"I have no time for women,"replied Killian, in a low voice.

"Aye, I believe you, thousands wouldn't!"Abernaster laughed. Killian found himself quickly becoming irritated with the old man and gave him a quick smile and nod, before dashing back out into the open air.

_**Reviews are appreciated more than you can know!** _


	5. Shore Leave - Part Two

**A/N - Wow, again thanks for the amazing feedback! This started as a very small Killian/Emma story but not it's got so much bigger in my head… Glad to have you all along for the ride!**

Emma stared into the pewter tankard around which her hands were wrapped. The tavern was abuzz with activity; the crew of the Jolly Roger already well lubricated with alcohol an hour or so after they had entered en masse, and taken over every available corner.

The room was small and the men were crowded around the limited tables that filled its space - save for a small bar at the far end of the room. Emma had been surprised that such a curious port should even have a drinking hole, but on reflection it seemed to be designed to service whatever ships may visit the island - its location a mere stumble from the dock and quite far from the town itself.

There were a few men drinking who were not of the crew - proof that there were at least some living on this isle. That day she had learned that Arcadia survived mostly now through the mining of rare minerals that were hidden deep in it's mountainous core. The eerie quiet of earlier was further explained by the daily exodus of what men and boys lived on the island to work in the mines.

Emma had hidden herself in the darkest corner, beside a few of the older sailors who were already snoring into their beers. She watched with a small smile as the two boys she had saved eagerly sipped their ale and talked with the younger crewmen - who were currently trying to persuade a shy barmaid to sit with them. She was glad for them - no, this was not what they had envisaged as a life at sea, but at least they were somewhat safe and had adjusted well to life onboard well.

Her beer was slightly warm and bitter, but still it went down easily: relaxing her tired, weary muscles and helping to release a little of the tension that had taken residence between her shoulders blades in the past week.

The day had been ultimately been uneventful. After being awoken by the captain's boot giving her a swift kick to the ribs, she had followed him from place to place, bartering the stolen goods she was carrying for food and other supplies which she then had to arrange to be transported to the ship.

It must have taken six or seven trips back and forth along the rough path to complete all the arrangements. More than once, the thought of attempting to escape had crossed her mind. The forest around the town was thick and extensive - she doubted that they would be able to find her. Her fervour was dampened by the astute realization that she knew nothing really of this island: its terrain, its predators or its secrets. It would have been highly likely that any escape into the island's depths may have ended in a perilous endeavour. Emma was brave, but not foolish.

She looked across the tavern until she saw the black, leather clad form of the captain joining tankards with his men, a wry smile on his face. Emma had still not worked him out - the 'dreaded' Captain Hook. She knew well enough to fear him based on reputation alone. Yet his behaviour to her was at least somewhat civil most of the time and this perplexed her. His cool demeanour and often cryptic words only adding to the mystique. Watching him smile, she noticed this did not extend to his eyes. They were still a brilliant blue, but somehow flat and dark, curious…

"Ay lad, how art thou fairin'?"

Broken from her introspection, Emma turned to her left to see Dicken, the ship's sailmaker, settling beside her on the low, uneven bench.

"Not so bad, sir," she smiled.

Dicken had been one of the few to give her a kind word or smile since she had reluctantly joined the crew. He was an older man, though she struggled to determine his age. The hair from the crown of his head was gone, leaving a reddened dome of peeling skin which seemed permanently sunburned and contrasted starkly with the salt-and-pepper color of what hair remained. His face, however, seemed younger - his bright green eyes lit up when he talked and although his skin was creased from hours in the sun, his expressions were playful and light.

"Tis not a bad port, this," he began before taking a sip from his tankard, "Tis almost luxury compared to some!"

"I suppose," she smiled at the old man, before looking back across the room, she watched Captain Jones laugh and take a long drink from his cup. "Dicken, how long have you been aboard the Jolly?"

"My," he sighed, rubbing the back of his hand against the rough, patchy stubble of his cheek, "Must b' comin' up t' ten year I'd say."

"And, if I may ask, how well do you know our captain? He seems strange… Not what I expected for a pirate captain."

Dicken paused and ran a thumb over the rim of his tankard, "He's had a 'ard life 'as our Cap'n Jones."

"Really?" Asked Emma, surprised that anyone whose living was piracy could be considered to have a hard life.

"Dost thou not know?" She shook her head and he chuckled in response, "Well, thou art new I s'pose. Much sadness 'as bin in 'is life - 'is loved ones dy'in, 'tis sad t' say."

"Dying?" asked Emma.

Dicken leaned closer, taking a look around before continuing. "T'was 'is brother first. He t'was t' first Cap'n Jones - a good sort 'e was - when 'e died our Killian took over. Mind, 'is heart was wild fer so long… Well, until he met his consort - a lass named Milah. Was with us a good two years. Then, o' course, she died too."

Death and sadness. What a sorry tale, she though as she nursed her beer. "Is he a good man?"

Instantly she felt stupid asking a pirate whether a pirate captain was a good man.

"Oh yes lad. Many a cap'n would uh shipped off one so old as m'self by now. And for all his 'ard talk, I knows there's a good man inside. I would not stay if it t'were otherwise."

Emma continued to stare across the room. The more she heard of Killian Jones, the more confused she was. She had always been a quick study of character - her favorite past time at court was to watch the courtiers who came to pay their respects to her father and stepmother (or, more accurately, she thought, fawn over them in hope of some monetary reward). While they stooped and bowed and babbled praises, she would examine their faces, poise and clothes - making up stories and tales of their backgrounds and lives, looking for small clues like a brooch or a muddied shoe to create a tale with which to amuse herself.

But with Killian Jones these schemes and musings came up with a blank page in her mined - and that curious part of her clamoured for more.

"Well, if you say so, it must be true." Once again she smiled at Dicken. He might be a pirate, but Emma had began to trust the old man. He seemed to have a good heart.

"'Tis," he nodded, "And thou should know our cap'n is a very clever man - educated. That's why the Jolly is so feared, 'e calls it tactics."

"Educated?" Emma asked, furrowing her brow, "An educated pirate?"

"A' knows," he chuckled, "It sounds strange, but 'tis true."

Emma wanted to ask more, but Dicken quickly finished the rest of his drink and stood to move away, "Keep safe t'night lad, this island is not one t' trifle with."

And as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone into the crowd.

* * *

Tiredness came over her like a quick rising tide. Her eyelids felt heavy and a dull pain throbbed her temple.

The crew had gotten even louder than she thought possible. The two barmaids were rushed off their feet delivering ale to the numerous men, and they had been joined by a few painted wenches wearing low cut gowns with their hair piled atop of their heads.

Across the room, she could see one of these women sat on the Captain's lap - toying with his hair and whispering in his ear. He seemed disinterested almost, more focused on the game of dice that he was playing with the man across the table from him.

"You play dice?" came a slurring voice from behind her. Turning to look, she saw one of the deckhands - a man named Porter - swaying slightly, the pint of beer in his hand sloshing over the edges of the tankard.

"No -"

"Come on, I'll show yeh -" Porter stomped his tankard onto the table beside her as he fumbled in his inside pocket.

"Thank you, but I'm actually tired and I'm-"

"Tired?" Porter laughed - a low, deep growl that rattled in his chest, "Why, thou art queer for a young lad!"

Blushing furiously, Emma swung her legs over the bench and ducked around Porter.

"Aye, that he is!" came a call form across the tavern. She caught eyes with the offender - a friend of Porter's, of course equally as drunk.

"I promise you both, I am merely tired after a hard day and I need to sleep."

She gave a terse smile and stumbled towards the door. The other man stood in her path, grinning mischievously as he grabbed the wrist of one of the wenches who was sat near him, his hands moving to fondle her breasts as she stood in front of him, a tense smile on her face.

"If thou art tired, perhaps some company to warm your bed?"

He was teasing her. The men on either side of him joined in his rough laughter and she licked her lips and straightened her shoulders, trying to hide her nervousness.

"Oh!" cried Porter, "Per'aps the lad is a virgin! That's why 'e is so shy! Is that is Jack? Tis you unfamiliar with the female person?"

More laughter rose. The fire in her cheeks was burning and she could feel rolls of sweat rolling between her shoulder blades.

"Or maybe," interjected the other man, "It's not the ladies he 'as a likin' for." He cupped a hand around his mouth, the other continuing to squeeze the wench's bosom, "Ey, barkeep, dost thou have a kitchen boy to entertain our lad t'night?"

By now, most eyes in the room were on Emma. God she felt ridiculous, but she wanted to cry. Sometimes the softer, feminine side betrayed her and she hated it.

The chuckling voices echoed around the room and Emma froze.

"Now, now lads."

A voice rose above the din - it was the captain. He was standing, one foot planted on the bench on which he had sat, his hand gesturing to the table. The woman who had been on his knee was now pushed to one side.

"Your captain is trying to play a quiet game. Leave the boy alone - have you not got better things to do with your shore leave?"

Porter dipped his head, "Sorry Cap'n, twas all in good jest - meant no harm an all."

Killian waved his hand dismissively as he sat and the room returned to it's previous actives - Emma taking the chance to slip out into the night. Silently, she thanked the captain, stealing another glance at him as the door closed behind her.

* * *

The cool air stung the burn from her cheeks. She quickly felt a little drunk - there was something about fresh air and alcohol that seemed to have a magical affect of changing one's temperament in an instant.

She lay back against the wall of the tavern - the noise from inside barely permeating the thick brick and plaster construction. That was close - too close. If she had been found out in such a manner… Though she supposed she could have bribed the prostitute. Sighing, she was thankful it hadn't came to that.

With her palms, she pressed away from the wall. She pulled her hat tighter as the chill wind whipped up around her - brought forth over the nearby dock and scented like salt and sea. Her eyes wandered over to a small wooden board a few feet from the door; it was covered in posters - plastered one over the other, most yellowing and frayed with age. Training her eyes over them she read quickly - mostly wanted posters for criminals and pirates (how ironic, she mused) - then she noticed one that was newer. It was still almost white, the printed lettering still clear and crisp.

Stepping forward, the words came into focus. 'Missing'. 'Reward'. 'Princess'.  _'Emma'._

Her jaw dropped and her heart began to race. The picture at its bottom was a simple sketch that looked like it had been taken from her official portrait in the throne room. It was only her face, her long hair tied back… The likeness was good. She recognized her own mouth, her own lips-

Furtively looking around, she quickly began to claw at the offending poster. It came away in thick strips beneath her fingernails, peeling towards the ground like dry autumn leaves. Gathering up the pieces, she shoved them in her pocket, before turning around to leave.

"Dicken!" she cried in shock. The old man was standing in the doorway, puffing slowly on a small pipe which sent a plume of smoke rising towards the sky.

"Jack," he nodded, "Didn't mean t' startle yeh."

Emma pulled her hands from her pocket and began to wring them together behind her back. "How long-?"

"Long enough," he smiled stepping closer.

A wave of sickness grew, rising up her throat as a cool feeling of dread flooded over her skin.

"Oh, sir, I can-"

"Hush-" the old man whispered, walking to her and taking her arm to guide her further away from the door, "I is no 'sir' to thee."

She swallowed deeply as Dicken looked back to make sure they were alone. "I is many things, but not a fool. I took thee for a girl from the first time I clapped eyes on yeh. A princess tho, well that's a s'prise."

"You knew?" she whispered.

"It's in the eyes, love."

There was a pause as Emma processed the pirate's confession.

"Why didn't you tell - I mean, why keep that a secret."

"Look lass, as far as I see it, if a girl were t' cut her locks and dress like a lad - well, there must be a good enough reason for that."

Emma nodded, "I was trapped."

Dicken placed a soft hand on her shoulder, "Worry not lass - I will keep thy secret. But thou must be careful - that was close in there! Keep t' thyself, stay away from that Porter and 'is like."

Giving him a little smile, Emma tilted her head and pressed a soft kiss on the old man's hand - his eyes opened wide in surprise.

"You're a good man Dicken."

"You're the first to say that in a very long time."

"Well, it's true," she insisted, placing her hand over his and thanking her lucky stars that all stories about pirates were not true.

* * *

She was cold and tired and annoyed.

The banging on her door had woken her from a quite pleasant dream of riding through the forest back home on her horse, Honey.

Pulling on her overshirt she had seen a rather inebriated Mr. Smee drunkenly rambling about the captain. Peeking her head from the door, she had seen him sunk to the floor, his shirt undone, softly snoring.

After grabbing her hat, Smee had helped her pull the captain into his cabin before drunkenly stumbling to his own quarters.

Asleep, Captain Jones was a dead weight. It took all her might to wrestle his long black boots from his legs (she was still smarting a little over their muddied state). Next, she lit the small lamp next to his bed.

Reaching for his belt, she gave herself a chance to pause. This was a chance to study the captain who so intrigued her without discovery. Though his eyes - and their piercing blue - were hidden, she couldn't ignore the way the sharp angle of his jaw and high cheekbones laid the foundations for a fine, handsome face. One even the scar on his cheek and layer of stubble couldn't hide; perhaps, in fact, they actually enhanced it.

Her eyes dipped lower to his half exposed chest. His vest was undone and lay limply at this sides and all but a few of the buttons of his black cotton shirt were unfastened. The shirt was tucked into his leather trousers and held in place with heavy-buckled belt.

Her fingers hesitated over the belt fastening. His chest was almost hypnotizing; leanly muscled and layered in hair that thickened as it trailed lower. There was a familiar stirring in her stomach. Her mind flashed back to the men she had given herself to. None were as he - so masculine. That was the only way she could describe him. He had the kind of form that she craved to feel beneath her fingers and taste.

Shaking hands released the buckle. He stirred a little as she pulled on the length of leather, releasing it and gently placing on on the chair beside his desk.

It couldn't be denied, she realized, that he was handsome and that she was attracted to him. His fine form and the mystique surrounding him appealed to her sense of danger and adventure. But she measured her thoughts with the understanding that he was a pirate, thought she was a boy - and most likely would slit her throat if he found out otherwise.

As she was lost in thought, Killian began to mumble. A pricking of sweat appeared on his brow.

At first it was incoherent. Emma had reached for the lamp to turn it down and was about to leave when a hand clutched hers.

"Milah!" he cried, his head tossing from side to side, "Milah! No! No…"

The words descended into quiet sobs. His fingers frightened around hers and she felt the delicate bones in her hand being slowly crushed by his firm grip.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry - I'm sorry…"

A ripple of pity spread out from her heart. The pain in his voice and the way his face was contorted as he spoke pierced the shell of mistrust for that she had grown for this man.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight. His face dampening as gentle tears rolled down his cheeks. Then suddenly his hand loosened and she turned to leave. Desperate to escape the misery - when his eyes flashed open and latched onto hers.

The air seemed to leave the room. Everything went still.

His blue eyes bore into hers - still glazed from his tears and reddened around the edges. She couldn't look away. The more she stared, the more she saw - hurt and pain and longing. She couldn't explain it, she just knew that was what lay inside - and that scared her.

"Captain," she finally said, "I was just-"

His eyes slipped closed again and he nodded, "Thank you boy. You can leave."

Emma nodded, which was ridiculous as his eyes were shut and then turned to the door.

"Jack?"

His voice was a little slurred. She looked back over her shoulder. He was sitting on the bed, pulling off his shirt.

"None of this to the men."

Emma nodded again. Trying to ignore the flash of heat that flooded her as she watched the muscles of his shoulders flex as they moved.

* * *

Safe back in her cabin, she bolted the door and fell into her hammock with a soft groan.

This ship was getting more dangerous by the day.

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	6. The Luck of the Draw Part 1

_A/N - Dicken and the other pirates are speaking in something similar to a Yorkshire accent._

_Princess of the Enchanted Forest_  was a rather apt title for Emma: nowhere else was she happier than among the trees and plants which gave her realm its name.

Astride Honey, she galloped through the dense woodland; hair flowing down her back, her cheeks flush from the exercise. The summer air was warm and sweet with the scent of wildflowers and pine trees. As she rode, the musky odor of plants in bloom ignited her senses and small creatures scurried across the forest floor. It was another world here, hidden within the arms of these tall wooden giants. Here, she was free from the restraints of court life: from her stepmother's wavering gaze and the growing pressure to marry and produce the next heir.

Honey had been the last gift her mother had given her before she disappeared. Sometimes she wondered if her mother had known - that maybe Honey had been a message, something to console her when she was gone…But that was preposterous, of course. Queen Snow had fallen into the ocean while sailing in rough seas. It was an accident.

Sometimes she felt like Honey was her only friend in the world: she would listen without judgement as Emma shared her deepest thoughts and fears, nuzzling into her neck - providing strength and love when she needed it the most. People could never seem to forget the fact she was a princess - could never see her as a person. Even those she considered friends, still seemed to hold back from true intimacy with a sense of misplaced decorum.

That day was much the same as any other. A quick breakfast in her parlor before she had dashed to the stables: a bag packed with a blanket and her copy of Gulliver's Travels. After riding for almost an hour, she had reached a grassy glade, where the sunlight filtered through the trees onto the lush green grass, scattered with bluebells.

There she had laid, book in hand, soaking up the simple pleasure of silence and sunshine on her skin, drinking in the warmth and comfort it provided, allowing it to wash away her worries as Honey grazed nearby. Remaining there until the sun began to dip behind the canopy of trees and her skin began to rise into gooseflesh with the chilling of the air.

After reaching the high wall that surrounded the palace, she quickly dismounted and circled Honey's reins around her hand, burying her face into the horse's soft mane - the color of which had inspired her name. She whispered loving words into her mount's ear as the gates opened and she walked into the small courtyard that backed onto the stables.

As she made her way to the stable arch, a servant from the castle dashed across the cobbled yard: "My lady - the king and queen are looking for you."

A sudden feeling of dread washed over her - cold and settling in her stomach. Today was the day when they were to receive visitors - King Michael and his son, Neal, from the neighboring kingdom of Antala. Emma knew what this meant. Another suitor. More stilted conversation. Her stepmother once again pushing her to encourage the affections of a man she felt nothing for.

Nodding, she handed the reins to the servant and headed into the castle with a sigh.

Being royalty was a gilded cage. Pretty things and comfortable living came with the shackles of responsibility. And that weighed heavy on her heart as she walked silently to the throne room.

* * *

"Emma!"

Her stepmother stood and opened her arms to embrace Emma - pausing for a second to give her a look to say she disapproved of her disheveled hair and grass-stained gown. Stiffly she embraced the other woman. The heavy brocade of her dress felt cold under her fingers and she pressed a tight lipped kiss to Emma's cheek, before whispering in her ear, "Don't forget what we spoke of."

How could she forget? Cautiously, she nodded, their conversation of a few days ago fresh in her mind~

_"Emma. You are not getting any younger. You must marry soon-"_

_Her head in her hands, she pressed her fingers into her temple, trying to ease the growing ache._

_"As you seem to want to remind me every other day!"_

_Queen Anya walked over to where Emma sat, crouching until they were face to face and taking her hands in hers. "I know how this feels. You forget I too was a princess before I was queen-"_

_"Technically, my mother is still queen." Emma looked at her stepmother and instantly felt guilty at the flash of pain that shot over her face._

_"Your mother is gone. No one has seen her for ten years, Emma. You must let go of this belief that she will come back - your father did."_

_Emma nodded her understanding. The moment she had watched her father join hands with Anya that summer's day three years ago had been the moment when she realized her father believed her mother was gone forever. While she still held onto a tiny grain of hope. However irrational._

_"He married you because of political pressure,_ Mother, _you and I both know that."_

_Standing, Anya strolled to the window that overlooked the castle gardens, "It is true that the union of our families has made both kingdoms stronger. We must all do our duty - and this marriage was mine. Life deals us all a hand of cards, Emma, the way they fall is the luck of the draw."_

_She watched as the other woman played with the thin band of gold on her ring finger. In truth, Anya was closer in age to a sister to her than a mother. The daughter of a powerful king to the south, the marriage had cemented an alliance between the kingdoms and brought much trade and protection to the Enchanted Forest. But for all her words of duty, Emma saw the shadow of sadness that hung over her._

_It was often talked about that the king and queen lead separate lives. Her father spent much of his time dealing with matters of business or hidden away in the library. The queen spent most of her days wandering the halls of the large castle - directing servants and trying to exude an air of authority._

_Emma knew people in court talked. Why had they had no heir yet? Was the queen barren? And she heard the whispers of the servants. The king always sleeps alone - never stirs to go to his wife's bed chamber. With every passing year the flatness of her belly and the emptiness of her arms said enough for Emma to see the truth in the gossip below stairs._

_"So that's it - I must marry some prince and sacrifice all my own happiness for duty? What about love? What about choice?"_

_"As women - as royalty - this is our cross to bear. The sooner you accept this truth, the sooner you can make peace with it. Duty, Emma - it was what we were born for."_

_And as much as Emma hated to agree, she knew in her heart her stepmother was right._

She sat beside her father as the doors to the room opened. First entered two footman followed by two other men - finely dressed and clearly royal.

The throne room was the most ostentatious of the whole castle. Every available surface was carved and gilded, thick ruby red drapes hung from the walls, a large carpet - intricately embroidered - covered the space in front of the three ornate thrones that were raised on a small platform at one end.

They approached, both bowing slowly, before her father stood and embraced the older man's hand. "King Michael, we are so honored by your visit."

The other king smiled, his eyes crinkling a little, until he gestured to the man beside him. "We are most honored by the invitation, your majesty. May I present my son, Neal?"

The younger man bowed and Emma looked at him intently. He was handsome, that much was true. Soft, dark eyes and thick brown hair. He was dressed well, the green of his doublet bringing out flecks of gold in his eyes. He turned his head and caught her gazing at him - giving her small smile and a nod. She replied in kind.

"It is good to finally meet you," her father said to Neal. "May I introduce my wife Anya, and my daughter, Princess Emma."

Both women rose in time and stepped closer to their guests holding out their hands and receiving a kiss from both men. The parents began to chat idly of matters of business as Emma and Neal stood somewhat awkwardly together.

She looked over at her father - he kept stealing glances at the pair, as the three discretely moved aside to give them privacy.

This was what her father wanted: her duty.

A heavy feeling in her heart, she turned to Neal and gave him a bright smile, "So," she began, "Tell me of your kingdom."

* * *

Thick fog surrounded the ship. Although it was past midday, the fallen clouds blocked out most of the sunlight and made the air cold and damp.

Most of the crew was below deck - playing cards and drinking weak ale as they waited for the weather to lift so they could resume their journey - navigation almost impossible in the heavy shroud that covered the Jolly.

Emma had taken the chance to have a rare moment of peace. Sitting on a bundle of rope at the aft of the ship, she slowly ate a small piece of bread. The quiet was blissful. It was the first real moment of solitude in the open air she had experienced since they had left Arcadia almost a week ago.

"Penny for thy thoughts?"

She smiled as she heard Dicken's voice. She had barely had the chance to talk to him, since he had discovered her real identity. At first she had feared - for all his promises - he would betray her. But he hadn't and her heart was warmed by his friendship.

"Enjoying the quiet,"she replied as he sat beside her.

The two watched the slow moving fog for a few minutes. Emma broke off piece of bread and handed it to Dicken.

"Can I ask thee a question, lass?"he whispered, crumbling the bread between his fingers as the boat softly swayed.

"Of course, that's the least I can do for you."

The old man smiled.

"Why art thou here? What cause made thee leave thy home - for this?"He gestured to the empty deck.

Emma thought quietly for a moment. It has all happened too quickly. The decision, her escape…

"Freedom, Dicken,"she replied, "It was the only way I could be free."

* * *

Several dinners, a ball, a day spent together riding in the woods and Emma had to admit: he was growing on her.

He lacked the stiffness and formality of the other princes she had been encouraged to meet. He laughed at her dry wit and shared her love of horseriding and travel.

Perhaps she could do this. She knew how happy it would make her father. Not only to unite the kingdoms, but to see her settled. She keenly felt the burden she lay on his shoulders the older she became. He worried for her future. She knew that.

So she had decided that she would accept the inevitable proposal. It was not likely a better one would come her way. Neal seemed reasonable and would likely make a good husband. Perhaps she may even grow to love him. One day.

Approaching the library where she expected to find her father, she raised her hand to knock on the large, heavy door- only to pause when she heard voices inside.

"I'm not sure, Father, she is a beauty, I agree, but fit to be my consort, I am unsure…"

"Now, now, son,"came the voice of King Michael, "She is rather exuberant, that I understand, but she is of good, royal blood. She will provide a strong heir for our kingdom."

"Perhaps…But Father, I don't think I am ready to swear myself to one woman. And such a willful one. I worry she will not accept my authority."

"Come now Neal, once you are married, she will answer to you as her husband - she will have no choice. No more of this gallivanting around the forest alone or these fanciful ideas of distant realms. A woman's place is in the home, bearing heirs. You and I both know these arrangements are political. Marry her and give me an heir, whatever else you chose to do with your time matters not to me."

"And Tamara- what will become of her?"

"You may keep your little dalliance as a mistress if you like. Here's my proposal - marry the princess and I will even bestow upon the wench a cottage where you may keep her away from prying eyes."

"And what if the princess learns of this? I doubt she would agree-"

"Once you are married, it is of no consequence what she thinks or desires. You will be King, Neal - and a king needs a queen, not some bar wench you are infatuated with."

Crisp footsteps made her pull away from the door and gasp - her ears still ringing with everything she had just heard. In the distance, she could see her father advancing along the stone hallway, a smile growing on his lips as he approached.

"Emma - to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Um,"she replied, lashes fluttering as the conversion she had just heard reverberated around her mind.

_A woman's place is in the home._

_Provide an heir._

_Answer to you as her husband-_

They saw her as nothing more that chattel - a trinket to display and use as they saw fit. Her blood boiled in anger.

Was this all she should ever be seen as? An object? A chess piece in a game of kings and thrones?

"Nothing, I just wanted to see you, Father."

King David smiled, and pulled his daughter into an embrace, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"And I can think of no better reason. Come, let us go for a walk."

He hugged her close, before dropping his hand to her waist as they walked together towards the staircase to the garden.

As her father talked of treaties and palace intrigues, Emma lost herself in her own thoughts.

A plan was forming in her mind. With a heavy heart she was beginning to realize that perhaps her only chance of happiness was away from this life. Her only chance of freedom was to escape her gilded cage - to no longer be a princess.

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	7. The Luck of the Draw Part 2

_Mr. Anders School for Boys, 25 years earlier_

“Come in.”

Nervously, Killian opened the large, oak door - turning the rounded brass handle with some difficultly before pulling it gently closed. In front of him was a large, imposing desk - polished so it instantly dazzled him.

Killian had never been in the headmaster’s room before. Despite having spent the past two years under his tutelage, the tall and gangly eight year old had never had reason to visit this, the third floor of the house, where his private quarters lay.

Eyes wide, he took in his surroundings. Heavily patterned green wallpaper covered every wall and on the floor was an equally busy Turkish carpet. Shelves lined two walls - packed with faded books and various, curious looking knick knacks - so tall they seemed to reach into the very ceiling itself. Behind the desk was a large window split into small rectangular panes which cast a pretty shadow across the floor. In front of the window sat the dour figure of Mr. Anders - the principal of the establishment.

Killian Jones had always been a little afraid of Mr. Anders. He wasn’t a tall man by any means, but for some reason he appeared as a giant to the younger boys who boarded together in the house. His hair was light, almost colorless, thoroughly overwhelmed by his permanently red skin: wind raw in the winter and sunburned in the summer. His face was strangely hypnotic: a long nose that dipped to hang over large pink lips, beady eyes that were almost black and devoid of any emotion. His cheeks were plump - matching his large rounded belly. Overall, his appearance was one of a rotund, overstuffed cushion.

“Boy, come closer. I have some news for you.” Killian obeyed, shuffling nearer, dipping his head respectfully. “Your mama-”

“Mama? Is she here?” he asked, eyes brightening.

“No-“

Across the room, another voice interjected, “No, Killian. Your mama - well, she is gone.”

Killian whipped around his head and gasped in surprise. In the far corner stood a man he had never seen before, hidden slightly in the shadow that clung to the edges of the room. Tall and lean, the man had light curling hair and was dressed fashionably in a blue jacket that nipped in at the waist and a deep red cravat.

Confused, he turned back to Mr. Anders. “Gone?” he echoed, his brow crinkling.

The headmaster cleared his throat and grasped his sausage like fingers together on the desk, “Killian, she has died. It was the typhoid.”

“Died…?” Killian mumbled, his bright blue eyes welling with tears as he crumpled the cap between his fingers.

Typhoid.

He thought back to Sam, a boy who had come to board with them for some time in the year just passed. His father and brother had died of ‘nervous fever’ as they sometimes called it, along with half the people in their part of his town. Over a hundred people killed in just over a week, Sam had said. Killian knew enough to be very scared of such a disease.

He knew he ought to be sad. His eyes dripped a few tears onto his shirt and his head ached a little, but other than that it was difficult to mourn someone whom had never been much of a part of his life. A few fleeting meetings, a toy from time to time, a note on his birthday. That was all he had known of his mother. Yet he knew he would miss her all the same.

“Are you okay?

“Who are you?” he asked, turning to the back of the man who had spoken earlier.

He walked towards Killian, a simple smile on his lips, until he crouched so that they were face to face. “My name is Liam. I am your half-brother.”

Killian’s small eyes widened. "Brother?"

Liam nodded softly as he looked over his brother's face. "Yes - we share the same father.”

“Are you come to take me?“ Hope began to swell in his small heart. A brother. _Family_. This was all he had ever dreamed of-

“No,” Liam whispered, grasping his hand and running his thumb over the back of it as he gave Killian a tight lipped smile, “Not yet, at least. Stay here and learn, I will visit as often as I can.”

“But family should be together.”

Yes, he still believed this. Despite having never met his father and knowing little of his own mother, he knew in his heart that family belong with one another.

“Yes dear brother, tis true, but not always possible. I have only just learned of your existence and presently I cannot care for you. Your mother’s estate is well able to pay for your education until such time as I can take charge of you.”

Killian’s young mind was all astir with so much new information - mother dead, a brother, who _wants him_ …

“Do you promise? Promise you will come get me when you can?”

His voice came out in a squeak of desperation, his eyes wide, searching the face of the stranger with the oddly familiar mouth and lips.

“Yes brother, I promise.”

* * *

Weary eyes. Weary feet. So much tiredness …

It had taken a grand effort to push herself to stand from where she had sat watching the stars with Dicken that evening - the fog of the past few days finally clearing and offering a tantalizing glimpse of the heavens above. 

She had stared at the constellations as they hovered above, briefly obscured from time to time by wispy breaths of cloud, until the wheezing snorts of her sleeping companion had alerted her to the lateness of the hour and the ache in her back had beckoned her towards her own bunk.

An eerie quiet had settled over the lower decks; punctuated by the occasional peal of snoring cutting throughout the silence as the crew slept. Only a skeleton crew was needed to remain at watch this far at sea. Consequently Emma was able to relax - just a little - as she tiptoed along the creaking wooden boards.

Then she reached the cabin she had to pass to reach her own: the captain ’ s. She swallowed, and held her breath as she approached. Since that night over a week ago, she had done her best to avoid his notice. The memory of how her cheeks had flushed and the flicker of desire that rose in her body when they were at close quarters was dangerously fresh in her mind, and not a feeling she was keen to solicit once more.

“ Boy? ”

The voice rang clear in the air, even through the thick, cabin door. She paused, holding her breath for a second, until-

“ Boy! ”

‘ Hell, ” she whispered under her breath, rolling back her head as she knocked gently on the door before dipping into the cabin.

“ Yes sir? ” she asked, her eyes quickly adjusting to the brighter atmosphere of the cabin, lit as it was by four lanterns and at least as many candles.

The sight of the captain, hair in disarray, shirt open to his waist and lain over his desk, gave her a start and she had to check herself to avoid crying out in shock.

Hesitating in the doorway, she watched as he slowly raised his head and gave her a lazy smile.  “ Jack. I need more rum. ”  Slurred words were punctuated by the sound of an empty bottle of rum falling to the floor with a dull thud. 

“ Captain- “ she began, taking a step forward.

“ Rum! ” he repeated, banging his hook against the table to emphasize his point.

Nodding, Emma dashed to the hold, feeling her way along the dark space until she found the captain ’ s supply of rum, pausing only to draw a pitcher of weak ale before she hurried back into the cabin.

When she returned, Captain Jones was now sitting upright, his hair smoothed a little and his hook dislodged from its brace and lying on the desk in front of him. Between his fingers, he rolled two small, white dice back and forth, his eyes locked on the tiny white cubes of ivory that glistened a little in the dim light.

He didn ’ t acknowledge when she approached and placed the bottle in front of him, nor when she took a tankard from the shelf near the door and filled it with the weak ale that was the ship ’ s substitute for fresh water. 

She waited for him to say something else, but he seemed transfixed by the dice. 

“ Goodnight sir, ” she finally whispered.

Her words shook him from his daze and the dice fell from his fingers, clattering against the desk, his hand following and wrapping around the bottle - lifting it to his mouth so he could pull the cork out with his teeth.

“ Drink? ”

“ Sir, I …” she swallowed as her voice trailed off, straining to think of a reason that would allow her to escape.

Ignoring her hesitation, he kicked a stool out from under the desk and nodded towards it.  “ Sit, ” he ordered as he lined up two small pewter glasses and filled them with rum - spilling a generous amount on the desk. She watched the liquid saturated the wood, darkening it, as she cautiously sat and took the drink she was handed.

“ To victory, ”  Captain Jones purred, his lips curling into a half smile-half snarl as he swayed slightly in his seat. He pressed his glass against hers, locking onto her gaze as he poured back the liquid in one go. Quickly she copied him, her brow crinkling when the alcohol hit the back of her throat and scorched the sensitive flesh. She held back an urge to cough, though her eyes began to water.

“ Another. ”

It wasn ’ t a request. The glasses were quickly filled again, and then once more, until the rum began to burn in her belly and she felt the woozy high as the beginnings of drunkenness filled her bones.

He went to pour another, but she placed her fingers over the glass and he paused, raising a brow.

“ Sir, to what victory do we toast? ”

Smiling, he pushed away her fingers and refilled the rum. He didn ’ t bother with his own glass this time, instead bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long, slow draw. Lying back, he rested the bottle on his leather clad leg, swinging one over the other until they were crossed at the ankle. While he seemed lost in thought, his tongue flicked out and licked the sticky, sweet remnants from his lips. She tried to not look at the moist flash of pink and the leisurely way it traveled across his mouth. Tried not to imagine what he himself would taste of: _rum_? Something else … A small shiver snaked down her spine as her heart started to thud dangerously.

“ A long awaited one, ” he answered enigmatically, placing the bottle back down on the table and picking up the dice again.  “ You play? ” he asked, as he tossed down the dice.

“ Once or twice, sir. I ’ m not much of a gambler. ”

He laughed a little, picking up the dice and throwing them a few more times, each time landing on a double. His mood seemed to switch between drunken swaying and slurred words smattered with moments of lucidity. Emma ’ s mind ticked over as she tried to judge the captain ’ s state of mind.

“ Neither am I, ” he replied, shifting around in his chair and pushing out his leg so his foot almost reached hers. 

Snatching the dice from the table, she threw them herself. _Double six._ She tried again. _Double two._ And again. _Double six._

Narrowing her eyes, she slowly sipped her rum - trying to work out what was happening, finally looking up to see an amused expression on his face.

“ You ’ re cheating. ”

“ A mere technicality, boy. ”

Emma used her finger to flick the dice across the table again. Both landed on the number two.  “ This is meant to be a game of chance, ” she sassed boldly, the alcohol stripping away some of her earlier reserve.

“ I don ’ t believe in chance. Better that the odds spin in your favor wherever they can. God knows they have their own way with you often enough. ”

As he spoke she watched his eyes flicker to a small shelf above the desk. On it laid a miniature in a wooden case. It was of a young man with familiar bright blue eyes. The colors were little faded, but she could see he was well dressed, with a fine suit and shining buckles and buttons.  He looked hopeful and full of life.

She looked at the captain again: pain now shrouded his face, like a dark veil that pulled down his features as he took yet another sip.

Gingerly, she took the bottle, pressing the tankard of weak ale across the table. 

“ Is that, sir, if you don ’ t mind me asking- “

“ My brother. I suppose the men have told you all my secrets, ” he smiled wryly, hand wrapping around the handle of the tankard.

“ A little, ” she admitted.

Damn, the room was starting to spin now. The cabin felt like it was shifting in her mind, jarring her senses while a hot flush flashed over her cheeks. 

“ He was a good captain. ”

Nodding, Emma felt the drowsy pull of alcohol begin to swarm over her. But she was curious, so curious…

“May I be so bold as to ask how he came to be a pirate? And you? You seem…”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement, drawing back a mouthful of ale, before picking the miniature from its dusty home and laying it out in front of him.

“By chance. Some may say fate… I’m not sure I believe in that though. A man should be master of his own.”

“Indeed,” she whispered. _Indeed._

* * *

“Men, this is my half-brother, Killian. See to it you make him welcome aboard - he is to be taught the running of a ship as any other though, no special treatment.”

“Aye sir,” came the small chorus of replies from the handful of crew collected on deck. The men all nodded before returning to their previous employment.

Killian smiled at his brother - dressed in his smart lieutenant’s uniform and respected by his crew. He was so proud.

“Brother - have I thanked you for keeping your promise and coming to get me?”

“Aye,” Liam laughed, patting his younger brother on the back, “Perhaps ten times already?” Killian grinned as Liam’s hands moved to his shoulders, “I only wish it could have been sooner."

“I understand - a young lad on this ship would have been a burden to you. But now I am almost 16 I am young enough to become a sailor!”

“That is true Killian, I was not much older than you when I first went to sea. Before you know it, you will have your own boat.”

Killian’s mind filled with images of exotic seas and islands, of treasure and adventure - all by the side of his brother. _His brother…_

“I’d like that Liam. Do you think my mother would be proud?”

“Immensely,” Liam nodded, a sad look falling over his face. “As am I.”

“And our father?” Killian asked cautiously, stepping a little closer and lowering his voice.

“Killian…” Liam began, sighing heavily as he pulled away to look out across the dock, “I have told you our father was a man of no good. A scoundrel, even. His opinion of you should have no bearing on your sense of self. I am your brother and you are mine. We are each all the other has in the world by way of true family. Let us forget those who had left nothing but a heavy stain on our hearts.”

Killian turned to look out over the bright blue sea as the sun began to set, casting shimmering flickers of light across its dazzling surface and the sky began to be tinted in a golden hue. Liam was right, they were all each other needed. Would ever need…

“You’re right, brother. Come, let me see more of your ship.”

* * *

Too much rum and not enough sleep. She could feel her eyelids flickering closed. The captain didn’t seem done with her yet - refiling her glass again and asking mundane questions about her life that she fumbled to fabricate. She was unsure whether he was interested or, perhaps - just maybe, he was seeking company. 

As he asked her about siblings and parents, she realized apart from the evening in the tavern the week earlier, the captain spent little time with his crew. He took his meals alone and retired to his cabin quite early every evening.  It must be a lonely existence, she mused. He was so different from his men…

“So no siblings, a lowly trader for a father, an absent mother… How, pray tell, did one such as you become so educated?”

Emma’s mouth became dry and her lips parted slightly. Her mind raced as she sought an answer that wasn’t ‘ _well actually I am a princess and I have three governesses…’_

“Our-our village had a priest. A very, um, wise man. He taught us children well - he understood the importance of learning.”

“And speaking well, I see? You must know how you stand out from the other crew?”

The thudding in her heart grew heavy: he leaned a little closer and his eyes flickered lower across her body. _Had he noticed something?_

“A well-spoken deckhand is a rare thing indeed. I see something more to your story boy, and I am determined to know it.”

Emma laughed nervously, shaking her head a little and taking another drink as soon as it was poured. _He was getting too close to her secret. She had to escape. Soon._

“One more, Jack?” he slurred, his cheeks bright pink from the rum.

“One more,” she agreed. Perhaps the rum would help her sleep, for the worry which was now consuming her threatened to keep her awake for hours.

* * *

A dry mouth and an aching back. A fine punishment for a night of excessive drinking. Her hand reached to her neck and massaged the small bones that spanned from the base of her skull as the morning light filtered through her eyelids with a pinkish shade.

How much rum? Urgh. Too much.

Gradually her eyes flickered open. She was on the floor. Above her a high, wooden ceiling, vaulted with solid oak beams. This was not her cabin, she realized with a start. Next, she heard the rhythmic breathing of another. Her head quickly turned to where Captain Jones was asleep sprawled over his desk. Stifling a cry, she started to scramble to her feet. The rum, she must have fallen asleep…

“Hmmm,” came a throaty groan. She froze, paralyzed almost as the captain roused himself and sat up in his chair, his hand rubbing against his forehead and his face crumpled. “Rum, rum, rum…” he sighed.

She held her breath, willing her body to move-

“Boy?” came the captain’s questioning voice.

She stumbled for the words, “I-I-“

Looking up at him, she realized he was staring at her. More directly, at her chest. 

Following his gaze, she noticed the buttons of her shirt were half undone, the bandage holding her chest bound had slipped and unraveled a little, revealing a tantalizing and unmistakable hint of cleavage.

“Are you…” 

His eyes narrowed. Perhaps he thought he was still drunk, perhaps-

She clutched at the edges of her shirt, pulling them together and beginning to push herself back along the coarse, wooden floor.

“Are you a girl?”

Her stomach dropped. She felt sick. Panic descended in dark mist that blanked out all thoughts except - _escape, run, NOW!_

Eyes wide, she caught his gaze for a second - he looked confused, shocked and dumbfounded.

Quickly, she took her chance and stumbled to her feet, taking the ladder straight to the deck, swinging open the heavy and climbing out of the cabin. Briefly she was blinded by the early morning sun.

“Come back!” bellowed the captain. She daren’t have even turned to see if he was following. Instead she ran jumping over ropes and steps, racing until she could go no further. Panting, she placed her hands on the gunwale - finally looking over her shoulder to see Captain Jones advancing towards her.

Taking a deep breath she said a quick prayer before tossing herself into the empty, endless ocean. The cold hit her like a wall - catching her breath and sapping what little strength she had, as she willed her limbs to push and kick.

Gasping for air, she could feel herself slipping as the cold hand of the ocean consumed her in its murky grasp. Her legs and arms seemed powerless against its will and as she slipped below the surface, everything turned black.

**_As ever, reviews and feedback are immensely appreciated. It really is the only way I know what people think!_ **


	8. Her

**I'm flabbergasted by the feedback I've been getting - especially for the last chapter of this fic. Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to let me know what you think, you'll never know just how much it is appreciated.**

Everything was black. 

But it was also cold - so cold…

There was something pressing against her - seemingly from every direction. It was solid and heavy; try as she may, she couldn’t take a single breath.

And she was falling - fast or slow, she wasn’t sure, but as the seconds ticked by she was tumbling further towards-

Towards where?

A fog had crept into her consciousness. Where was she? What was happening?

Those thoughts wouldn’t come.

All she could think was, why was it so cold?

* * *

His head was pounding as he raced up the ladder that led straight to the deck, hot on the heels of-

_Of - who?_

As much as the alcohol had made his thoughts muddled and vision fogged when he woke, he was certain of what he had seen.

Jack, he had… breasts. He was sure of it. Concealed somewhat, yes, but beneath the half open shirt he had seen the unmistakable hint of fleshy curves as the boy had roused himself from where he lay on the floor of the cabin.

_Boy._

Or girl…?

The only answer would be found in following.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused for a second - breathing heavily - as he surveyed the deck. There was a flash of white near the bow.  _There._

Narrowing his eyes, he ran quickly. 

Jack was looking back at him, face etched in panic. Then his hands were on the gunwale; his feet scrambling to join them.

And in a flash, he was gone.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Killian as he reached the spot where Jack had jumped overboard.

Frowning, he searched the seething blue-grey mass of water below. The ocean was accented by frothy pools of white sea foam which swirled and bobbed in the unsettled expanse, disguising any entry point he would have made.

He craned his neck, leaning over and looking down.

Nothing, nothing, until-

A pale pink flash of skin, an arm?

“Jack!” he shouted. But just as quickly as it appeared the arm sank beneath the surface.

Killian hissed as he went to grab a length of rope that was coiled near the mast. He quickly looked around: no crew was yet on deck, save the young lad in the crow’s nest who appeared fast asleep.

Tugging the rope, he coiled it around his waist and tied it with a firm knot.

_This was a foolish, crazy idea-_

These thoughts were quickly swallowed as he dived into the ocean, aiming for the place where the arm had vanished into the murky waters. Instantly, icy pinpricks attacked his skin and this breath caught in his throat - the force of his fall had pushed him below the surface and his legs kicked frantically to push his body higher to take a precious gasp of air. 

Lungs fully expanded, he let his body sink lower, prying his eyes open as the water surrounded him once more. The salt stung his eyes and he felt fit to burst as he frantically searched for a sign of the boy. Bubbles swirled around, obscuring his vision; he needed to breathe. 

Another flash of pink to his right, a flicker of a white shirt, just within arm’s reach…

A second later, his fingers were grasping a limp arm, tugging it towards him, his hook arm wrapping around Jack’s waist as he started beat his legs against the heaviness of the ocean - their muscles burning and crying out for respite as he broke through the surface with a wheezing gasp.

Killian wiped the salty water from his eyes and then stared up at the hull of the Jolly - the rope that was anchoring him to it rippling in the breeze. He began to wonder how he would pull them both up; him with one hand and carrying a dead weight, when he suddenly saw the smiling face of the ship’s sail maker, Dicken, leaning over the gunwale.

“Cap’n, grab a hold, I’ll get yeh up!”

Dicken disappeared for a second; Killian tightened his grip on both Jack and the rope, steeling himself for the inevitable tug as they were hauled up.

It took less than a minute before the two were falling onto the deck of the ship. Killian first, tumbling in a damp mess with Jack following his path onto his chest before rolling to one side.

Quick footsteps announced the older man’s approach, “Cap’n…”

Jack suddenly began to cough, bringing up a mouthful of water before lapsing once more into unconsciousness. 

“Help me,” ordered Killian, taking hold of Jack’s arms as Dicken took hold of the boy’s legs. Killian nodded towards the hatch to his cabin and the two stumbled towards it, not stopping to pass a glance or a word.

Inside the small room, the limp body was lifted onto the narrow bed.

With a creased brow, Killian looked over the silent body. Pale skin, drenched hair and clothing.

He could see it now- how could he have not noticed before? The high cheekbones and the soft, full lips, round eyes lined by long, dark lashes.

A woman.

Suddenly aware that he was not alone, he spun around and faced Dicken.

“Dicken-“

“Tis no worry sir, I can ‘old me tongue.”

Killian nodded silently, moistening his lips and looking back at fragile figure whose skin was turning an unearthly pale shade as he watched.

There was a sweat on her brow and her lips were beginning to mumble incoherent words.

“Tis the salt captain, she must ‘ave swallowed quite the lot.”

“Indeed,” nodded Killian as he reached out to wipe a rolling bead of seawater from her cheek, “Dicken, fetch rags, some ale and a bucket of fresh water from my stock.”

Dicken nodded and turned to leave when Killian caught his shoulder and pulled him back, staring him deep in the eye, “Not a word, sailor, I will deal with this on my own terms.”

“Aye sir,” the old man agreed before hurrying from the cabin. 

Killian looked back at the stranger sprawled out on his bed. She was shivering violently - the dampness of her clothing was chilling her. He knew she would become even sicker if he didn’t act quickly.

Tugging off her boots, he wrestled with the saturated heavy cotton of her pants and peeled away her linen shirt until she was left just in long underwear and the bandage around her chest that he had glimpsed earlier that morning. Her frame was so small and delicate, he wondered how he had ever been fooled.

She began to toss and turn her head from side to side. Killian reached into his dresser and pulled out a thick woolen blanket and covered her body, tucking it underneath her so she was cocooned in its embrace.

And then he waited.

* * *

Light and dark shapes flickered across her eyelids.

Alternating between burning and shivering, she felt sweat soak her skin, sticking her body to the sheets she lay on. The salty tang of seawater lingered on her lips and clung to the back of her throat. Hot and cold flashes ran across her skin, her head felt heavy and painful - as if her skull was cracking from the inside. 

Then, in a moment, everything faded away.

She was astride Honey, back home in the Enchanted Forest. The sun was warm against her skin, the smell of the morning dew clung to her nostrils as she galloped between the ancient, towering trees.

Her long skirts brushed against bare legs as her hair tumbled down her back. It was familiar and delicious and comforting. How she had missed this-

But then it was gone. Everything turned black.

She was alone. Scared.

Dark shadows were chasing her. They knew who she was. They snapped at her heels and entangled their snaking fingers in her hair - pulling her back and further into their emptiness-

Crying out, her eyes flew open.

“Wha- what…” she panted, her fingers balling in the sheets below her as her feet kicked at their heavy woolen prison.

“Shhhhh.”

“Where am I,” she mumbled, her eyelids flickering closed again as she threatened to slip into unconsciousness once more.

“You are safe, on board the ship,” came the quiet reply.

_Ship? On board?_

A wave of memories crashed against her soul, the past few months flashing by in seconds.

“Water,” she croaked. Her throat was dry and scratching - as if she had swallowed something sharp and it was lodged in place.

A warm hand enveloped her own, pressing into it a heavy, metallic tankard and supporting it as she brought it to her lips and sank back the lukewarm water as if it were the finest nectar a body had ever consumed. 

It trickled into her belly - sating the dry ache a little while the moisture took away the salty taste on her tongue. Her head rolled back onto the thin pillow where it lay. “What-what happened,” she managed to ask between shaking breaths. Her heart was racing and she felt slightly faint as she tried to sit up.

“Lie down, you are still quite ill.” 

A firm palm pressed gently against her shoulder and she gave up her resistance, sinking back down to lie. The tankard was placed back in her hand and a cool rag placed on her forehead. “You nearly drowned.”

Drowned?

And then she remembered jumping overboard. Running from the cabin. And why she had ran.

He knew.

“Please…Please…” She opened her eyes again and her vision was blurry for a few seconds until the captain’s face came into focus. Using her feet, she tried to push herself further away from him, but her weak legs were useless. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

She could see him clearly now. He was sat by the bed on the chair that usually was beside his desk. The cabin was dark - was it night already? A lantern was hung from the ceiling and it swung gently with the motions of the ship, its light dancing over his skin and stretching strange shadows as he looked down at her. Her stomach clenched: his face was blank. Was he mad? What would he do? Panic clawed at her from inside, like a wild animal trying to escape, and she froze, eyes wide.

“Hurt you?”

He smiled. It was a peculiar smile, not warm or caring, not menacing - confused perhaps?

“For my lies, sir,” she explained, dampening her lips with her tongue - she could still taste the salt and it turned her stomach. She began to shake a little.

“Yes, you have some explaining to do-?” He raised a quizzical brow as a wave of exhaustion passed over her.

“Emma,” she sighed, “My name is Emma.”

“Well, Jack would have been a rather peculiar name for a woman.”

Cool dread began to seep through her aching body - now he knew. Her ruse had been discovered and she was adrift in the middle of an ocean with one of the most feared pirates that had ever sailed. 

“Well, Emma, I have not quite decided what will happen with you yet. You have provided me with quite the conundrum.”

“I beg your forgiveness captain,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

So this was it. She had been discovered and now her fate seemed set.

“I think apologies are a little late now, love.” 

He leaned closer, his hooked arm resting on the bed as he nodded towards the cup in her hand, “Drink up, you swallowed a lot of seawater.”

Silently she took a sip, keeping her eyes on him as she gratefully swallowed more of the delicious water. 

“Now, I think you need to explain to me why you have been galavanting around my ship for the past month disguised as a boy, when,” his eyes dropped to the shape of her body outlined by the blanket, “You are clearly not.”

His gaze made her feel hot. She felt her cheeks redden.

“I was running away-“ she sucked back a deep breath, “I had to escape from my home.”

“Family problems?”

“Something like that. I knew the sea was the best way to cover a large distance and quickly.” 

“And the disguise?”

Feeling stronger, she shuffled a little higher in the bed, relaxing just a little. Resting her head against the small wooden headboard, she looked they captain straight in the eye, attempting to project a countenance of confidence and bravery.

“Um…” 

She hesitated. He couldn’t know of her true identity. She may just escape with her life as things currently stood, but if he knew she was royalty she was certain that he would want to take advantage. 

“A woman travelling alone is suspicious, captain.”

He nodded, seemingly accepting her words.

“Fair enough.”

He stood silently.

“Captain - please, tell me what you are going to do with me? I deserve to know that.”

“Sleep,” he ordered, taking the tankard from her weak grasp, “I need to think.”

The unsettled sensation in her stomach flared once more. She was thankful when exhaustion overwhelmed her once more and the room once again turned black.

* * *

_A woman._

She had led him on a merry dance these past few weeks, hiding her identity-

No, he thought, not quite.

Killian looked out across the empty, lonely water, lit only by the gleaming light of the full moon that seemed extraordinarily large in the sky tonight.

If he was honest with himself, he had known something was strange about him… her.

When he had first seen her bravery, offering her life for that of the young boys, he had been drawn to - her.

_Her._

That day he had spent many hours by the bed, waiting for her to wake. His initial shock at the discovery had been first replaced by anger.

No one makes a fool of Captain Jones. He had shaken her body, as it lay there lifelessly - refusing to wake herself, demanding answers.

He told those who asked that Jack was sick when he had returned to the deck to give orders for the day, having changed his own salt-ridden clothing with a fresh set. He did not want his men to be privy to her ruse and his own deception.

When he had returned to the cabin, his anger had abated slightly. The small, sickly figure of the girl seemed lost in his bunk. She was tossing and turning, mumbling of forests and shadows and, every so often, she called for her mother.

With a damp rag, he had wiped the sweat from her face, using it to trace the curves of her high cheekbones - so clearly feminine he felt foolish for allowing himself to believe otherwise. Her short, golden hair, fanned out on the pillow, just scraping her delicate shoulders.

In another time - another place - he would have said she was quite beautiful. But the sallow skin of sickness had taken away any pretty sheen of youth. Instead of allowing himself to admire her, he felt an involuntary wave of pity for this young woman. 

And now she had awoken, had spoken to him in her true, soft, voice, his compassion for her tale had increased.

She was a little like he, in a way, running, searching for something. She, an escape from an unwanted life, him vengeance for a taken one.

Sipping on his flask of rum, he resolved to conceal her from the crew; as much to protect her as to protect his reputation. He would make sure Dicken was well compensated from their next haul too to ensure his silence. Things would continue as much they had until they reached a suitable port and he would send this Emma on her way.

Yes, allowing her safe passage was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

* * *

Emma was awake and upright when he returned, sipping on the ale he had left by her.

“Captain-“ she gasped quietly; he saw her start a little and draw her legs up to her chest.

“Be calm, lass, I am not here to harm you.”

Her shoulders sagged a little and he dragged the chair back to the bed before offering her some of the salted meat he had brought for their supper.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked.

“A little,” she whispered, pulling the blanket tighter around her when it slipped to reveal a few inches of bare shoulder. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she was feeling a little exposed.

“Would you like some dry garments?”

The lass nodded and Killian slipped to her cabin, coming back with a shirt and breeches. 

He handed them to her, then stood by the bed.

“Could you-?” Her eyes flickered over her body and he cleared his throat in understanding, turning his back to her and stepping to his desk.

An awkward silence settled. Clothing and blankets rustled as she changed.

Killian glanced at the small mirror on his desk, just in time to see a flash of beautiful, soft skin of her back as she slid off her still damp long johns and pulled on the breeches. 

His heart caught in his throat a little.

God, she was a fine woman. A firm curve to her buttocks rising to a small, delicate waist. He had a sudden urge to touch her that he quickly squashed by biting on his tongue.

It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a woman so fine.

Shaking away those thoughts, he asked, “A question, lass, can’t you swim?”

He heard her settle back on the bed and he tentatively turned around to see her sitting upright, more familiar now in those manly clothes. Though, now of course, there was no hiding the femininity her features held so well.

“Of course, captain. But it was cold, and I panicked…”

She gave him a weak smile and he raised his brows in amusement. “Diving off a ship in the middle of the ocean is not perhaps the most astute idea in any circumstance.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, playing nervously with the buttons of her shirt as Killian sat, “I’ve heard so many stories of the dreaded Captain Hook to make me acutely aware of what you are capable.”

This honesty was refreshing.

“Stories are just that love, stories.”

“But surely, some must be true. Everyone knows your crew are ruthless, taking what they want, whoever stands in their path vanquished easily. Indeed, the manner of my joining your crew served only to strengthen my belief in these tales.”

“And where do you think these rumors originate, love?,” he paused for a second as her brow crumpled, “Me, mostly of course.”

“You?” she asked, puzzled, her head cocking slightly to he left.

“Fear is a powerful tool,” he began, standing slowly and walking to the foot of the bed, “A reputation as bloodthirsty pirate is surprisingly effective in encouraging surrender. And it is far easier to take my quarry without resistance.”

“So, it’s all - it’s all  _lies_?”

“Mostly,” he quipped, “But as you saw occasionally a captain is rather foolish and my men, well, they are pirates.”

“Oh,” she sighed. Her mind awhirl with thoughts- trying to decipher the lines between what was fact and what was fiction.

“Have I disappointed you? I assure you I can be ruthless when required.”

Leaning over the bed, he gave her a menacing smile and felt a little dart of pleasure when she sucked in a quick breath before she turned away to look out of the small, cabin windows.

“So then, what is to become of me? Have you decided?” Her voice wavered sightly as she asked, fear rippling through each word.

Rounding the bed, Killian sank to sit on its edge, the mattress dipping slightly causing her to roll a little closer to him. He stared at her for a moment - taking in her pretty green eyes and defiant set chin. He couldn’t deny she intrigued him.

“I am a man of honor, lass and also consider myself to be a reasonable captain. That said, you have lied to me. Luckily for you, that lie is not something I wish to become common knowledge with my crew. So I propose, you continue as before, perhaps with a little more caution when mixing with the crew, and once we reach a suitable port we will part ways and that will be the end of this.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“I have no reason to lie.”

“And-and I’ll be safe?”

The lass’s eyelids flickered lower and her cheeks reddened. Amused, he understood her question quickly, and placed his arms on the bed so he was nearer to her face.

“As tempting a treat as you would be,” he smirked, “I have more important issues to worry about as things stand. I think it would be best for the both of us if we execute this plan with the minimum of… distractions.”

“Of course…”

“Now, are you well enough to return to your own quarters? It is late and you have occupied a great deal of my time today.”

She nodded, and he moved to the side to let her slip from the bed, her legs shaking as her bare feet reached the floor until she was stood beside him. The tang of salt clung to her mixed with something sweetly feminine and he inhaled, sinking in her scent as she straightened her clothes.

“Goodnight captain. And - thank you.”

Killian watched her feet walk away when he remembered the boots at the foot of his bed. Scooping them up with his hook, he took a few steps and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her round.

The force of his movement had her tumbling into his chest. She paused and looked up at him. His mouth went dry for a second as he forgot what he was doing.

There was an undeniable force tugging between them - a tension that had came from nowhere and disappeared just as suddenly as he pushed the boots into her hand and she mumbled her thank you.

When the door closed, he slumped to his bed. It smelled like her, he noticed absentmindedly.

Loosening his clothing, he felt his own tiredness overwhelm him and sleep arrive.

Sleep punctuated by dreams of green eyes and golden hair.

 

_**As ever reviews are welcomed, encouraged and appreciated.** _


	9. Emma

She was okay.

He was going to let her go.

Tumbling along the dark corridor, she struggled to comprehend what had just occurred. Still weak, she clutched at the walls when the world began to spin, resting her head against the rough wood as she caught her breath.

It was the antithesis to every story, tale or whisper she had heard about a pirate: that she should have walked out of his cabin with not only her life, but with her honor intact. She said a silent prayer as she collected her thoughts and pushed open the stiff door to her cabin - its hinges whining in protest. Moving slowly, she dragged her aching body inside, tossing her boots to the floor before slumping onto her hammock with a sigh of relief.

He had been actually reasonable. Emma rolled her eyes in disbelief as she looked out the small window of her cabin, at shimmering face of the full moon that was smiling down at her from the sky - almost as if he were in on her secret.

Laughing seemed an appropriate response right now, and she chuckled as some of the tension that had lain on her shoulders since she had first awoken and realized her secret was out, dissipated. The chuckle turned into a light peal of laughter - the most feminine she had allowed herself to be for months - that echoed around the small room until her belly began to ache from the effort.

She was safe, for now. For if there was one element that overrode every pirate tale she had heard, was that for the most part, they could not be trusted. However, she took some solace in the understanding that the captain was as keen to keep her secret as she. It seemed that appearances and reputation were of paramount importance on board such a vessel as the Jolly Roger.

Despite having slept for most of the day, she found sleep easily took her once again within its grasp. The nightmares of earlier were not repeated, in fact, she could not remember any of her dreams at all come the morning light.

Perhaps, she mused as she woke, this was a symbol of a new beginning.

Danger was not yet gone from her situation. But an uneasy sense of expectation for the future was starting to appear. The feeling of being on edge and having to hide was becoming tiresome, and, was frankly untenable. She actually missed being herself, being Emma.

Onward she must go once this chapter of her life closed. It was time to leave Jack behind. Certainly she was far enough away from home that the likelihood of discovery was minimal.

Time to start afresh. 

* * *

 

The following day, the captain called on her only once. He made no mention of the prior evening’s conversation, or the events that occurred before it, as he set out orders for a small reorganization of his cabin and directed her to prepare a bath for him that evening.

Nodding curtly, he had quickly exited the room and left her alone to undertake the minor chores - which, in reality, seemed more designed to keep her out of his presence rather than any real need for the task.

Still weak, her breathing was still a little difficult, and it was past midday by the time she had changed his bed linens, moved a small cupboard and swept and shook out the large rug that covered half of the floor.

Tired, she perched on the edge of the bed and opened up the small window latch that allowed a gust of clean air into the room.

She took a moment to reflect on her earlier thoughts.

What would she do now? Where would she go? What direction would her life take?

Her future stretched forward like a fresh white piece of parchment, the pen of fate held aloft, ready to mark her destiny in its fine hand once the fates had decided what it held.

But no, she thought, shaking her head as she relatched the window and moved to tidy away the captains clothes. Now she would make her own fate - it was in no ones control but her own.

She ran her fingers along the soft, gauzy linen of his shirt as she folded it and placed it in the aging chest of drawers he used. It seemed as much a symbol of him as his hook or reputation, she mused. Never in the weeks she had been aboard had she seen him wear another color or style. It was like a uniform, or even armor, perhaps.

What a curious man, she sighed. Such an enigma as would have occupied her greatly had he ever come to court. She would have spent hours studying his attire and poise, eavesdropping on his conversations and concocting a variety of wild and outrageous stories of his life. 

Yes, she thought as she slammed the drawer shut, a man such as him certainly warranted such attentions.

* * *

Dicken helped to fill the bath just as twilight arrived. The old man had lugged most of the buckets of warm water from the galley and had surprised Emma with his strength and perseverance.

His earlier greeting of ‘Y’all right, Jack?” accompanied by a wink of his twinkling eyes, had made her smile when she had found him at work mending a large sheet of canvas. Without asking, he had came to assist her with her hardest task - first dragging the tine bath into the captains cabin and then helping to slowly fill the tub, a tedious process at the best of times.

When the final bucket of water was emptied, Dicken collected the empty receptacles and made to leave as Emma readied the captain’s towel and soap.

“Thank you Dicken,” she smiled shyly. “For everything.”

“You ‘ave nothin’ t’ thank me for. Just promise an’ ol’ sailor one ting?”

“Anything.”

“Be careful out there, lass. The world ain’t always a good t’ those it shud b’.”

“I promise,” she agreed, her heart warming at the obvious affection the old man held for her. Her grandparents had died long ago, but she presumed that, had they lived, they would have treated her in much the same way.

The sailmaker left as quickly and nimbly as his aged legs allowed and within a few minutes the door opened again and the captain returned. Immediately he began to shed his coat and vest, tossing them aside as she watched.

His hands began to reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it free and beginning to raise it over his stomach until she coughed lightly, clearing her throat until he looked in her direction. Her breath caught; the linen was raised, giving a tantalizing glimpse of a trail of dark hair that dipped seductively into the waistband of his leather trousers. She couldn’t stop staring. His sun darkened skin - well, the few inches she could see - was taut, the bones of his hips accented with a v-shaped muscle.

“Oh-“ he began, dropping the material and then raising his hand to rub against the scruff of his chin. “Perhaps-“ he looked towards the door and she nodded, feeling a wave of relief as she started to walk past the captain to the room’s exit.

As she walked past the tempting, clean water of the tub, her eyes lingered. Suddenly she felt keenly the salt and sweat and grime that layered her skin. How long had it been since she had bathed? Not since she had left the castle. She let out a small gasp at the realization, her shoulders pinching as she felt her skin crawl with weeks of accumulated dirt.

“Are you okay?” he quizzed, pausing mid task as he pulled loose the thick leather belt he always wore.

Emma hesitated. There was a moment of silence, only punctuated by the heavy droplets of rain that had began to lash against the window of the cabin. Her hand rose to scratch at her salt ravaged hair. She looked around the room - wondering if she dared tell him.

“I-“ she began, before shaking her head and making for the door, “No sir, I am fine. Sorry.”

“Lass,” the captain said in a surprisingly soft tone, taking a step in her direction - making her flinch backward a little in anticipation of his touch. But he paused a few feet away, lowering his voice, “What is it?”

She flicked her lids closed and screwed up her face a little - tightening her features in anticipation of his expected retort at her revelation, “I haven’t bathed in months,” she admitted, the words tumbling out so fast as to almost become one.

“Ahh,” he sighed in response, nonchalantly folding his arms as she peeled open her eyes.

“But that is no concern of yours,” she quickly added, blushing at her unintended openness.

“Perhaps not,” he nodded, “But I am not an unmoved by the fate of a damsel in distress.” 

Her cheeks burned, and she looked down, studying the crooked timbers of the floor. “Are you mocking me?”

“That was not-“ he began, his voice trailing off into a sigh, “I mean to say, there are waters enough for two-“

“I could never, captain!” she cried, her eyes widening in shock at his insinuation that they share a bath.

“No, no,” he laughed, shaking his hand in front of his face, allowing his chuckles to settle before he continued, “You may quickly bathe first, cleanse yourself. I have no desire to make you uncomfortable. As pleasurable as such a scenario may be.”

“Really?” she retorted, ignoring his last comment.

“Yes,” he admitted, “But the offer stands for just this moment so-“

“I accept,” she smiled, feeling a giddy rush of excitement - she would be clean!

“Fine,” he nodded. “The weather is poor on deck so I will need to remain here-“

“Captain-“ she whispered, her chin trembling.

Chuckling again, he reached into the small leather trunk near the door and pulled out a large, woolen blanket. Wordlessly he began to attach it to the small, metal hooks that were lined neatly along the edges of the ceiling.

“See lass?” he sighed, as finally the room were split in two, “To protect your modesty.”

Surprise and relief came in spades. Perhaps he had been truthful the day prior. Maybe his talk of honour was not just lip service.

“Thank you.”

He gave a brief bow and ducked under the makeshift curtain where she heard him pull the chair from his desk and the subsequent shuffling of papers.

Peeling away her well worn garments with relish and sighing in comfort when the bandage that bound her chest was removed, she eagerly slipped into the water.

Bliss.

* * *

He tried to concentrate on the charts in front of him. The next leg of their journey was possibly the most perilous as they passed by many small rocky islands and areas of strong currents. A clear, safe route was vital.

But it was not easy. 

Too many distractions.

The tug and slide of clothes against skin.

The soft splash of a body entering water (and the delicate sigh that accompanied it).

The gentle tricking sound of water being pooled and cupped.

The rubbing sound of soap as it lathered and slid.

His eyes flickered to the blanket. The briefest of shadows shone through the thick material. The tub was parallel to it - her small body was mostly hidden in the spacious bath, but her head and shoulders (and a slight curvy breast) were visible.

Shifting in his chair, he tried to focus.

The lines of the map blurred. Every minute or so, he turned to take a glimpse at the partition. His heart was thudding a little. It had been a long time since a woman had bathed in his quarters (or been in his quarters for that matter- his dalliances where usually confined to shore. Much easier that way.)

He shook his head a few times. Digging in his pocket he pulled out his rum and took a drink.

It was distracting. She was humming now. Some little ballad that was vaguely familiar. 

More sloshing of water and soap slapping against skin. He groaned inwardly, chastising himself for being so affected - he who so prized himself on his self control.

Nimbly, his fingers rolled the maps and pushed them to the back of the desk. Digging his feet down onto the floor, he pushed back his chair with a loud scrape - he heard her start.

“Captain?”

Gods, her voice was melodic in these unguarded moments.

“Captain?” she asked again, her voice trembling a little.

“Yes lass,” he whispered in reply.

She said nothing, but he heard her sink deeper in the tub.

He needed to fill the silence.

Picking up his copy of Gulliver’s Travels, he thumbed through a few pages, before he began to read. His voice low and deep, filling the cabin with its unique timbre. 

It helped block out these thoughts of her.

Helped, but was not entirely successful.

* * *

When he started to read, she had froze at first, but then the tension had melted into a smile as she listened to his melodic voice caress the familiar words. It was comforting, being read to. It was something her mother had done every night - even when she had reached her teen years.

Before she had disappeared, that is.

She allowed herself to doze a little, before working some of the soap in her hair, massaging her fingers against her scalp as he continued to read.

She was unsure whether it was for her benefit or his, but all the same she was grateful. It was, perhaps, the most normal she had felt in a long time. Clean and comforted by a story shared.

When he became silent, she knew it was time for this moment to end. Reluctantly she pulled herself from the water, ready to become Jack again.

For now anyway.

* * *

He had read until the words blurred in front of him and he had to stop.

 

It seemed she had understood.

As she stood, the water tricked down her body into the tub. He looked again.

His breath caught at the hazy line of her form. Curved and feminine - so hidden before beneath loose clothing. An urge to pull back the curtain and look at her - bare - came over him. Being so close to such feminine beauty was a cruel kind of torture for a man so starved of female attention.

Oh, he had had his fair share of women in his time. Drunken wenches and bar whores were easy to find and charm with a bottle of rum or a few coins.

But, hell, he longed for the feminine touch of one who cared more for him than his name or the contents of his purse. To run his fingers over smooth skin, for a coy smile on a pretty lasses lips, for a hand curled in his hair and a soft body lain against his own-

Torture of a peculiar kind indeed.

Finally, clothed but with her damp hair hanging softly around her face, she dipped around the curtain and gave him a coy smile and a nod.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me lass,” he sighed.

“I feel the need,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You are being surpassingly cordial, for all my deceit.”

“I can be a reasonable man.”

“Yes, yes you can,” she smiled.

It was a lovely smile. Bright and full, he had to hold back a smile of reciprocation.

He stepped away a little. She was too close. But then he hesitated - maybe…

“Your company is not unwelcome lass. A lonely sailor can become rather insular. An educated companion is rare. Should you wish to read or engage in discourse some evenings - I would not be averse to your company.”

She seemed surprised, her brows raised. It was a quizzical, humorous expression that made him bite back a reply.

“That’s very generous captain, I’d be happy to sit with you some nights.”

Killian nodded.

“In return - perhaps in these times away from the crew - you may use my given name. Rather than lass I mean.”

“Emma?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled, “I’m not sure if it will ever by a name I can be known by again, but it would be nice to use it, one more time at least.”

“Emma it is then,” he agreed, giving a small bow as she swept past him to leave the cabin.

* * *

 

Later, in the now lukewarm water, he was taken over by a singular thought of her body, lain where his was, of her soft voice and pretty smile.

 

Of Emma.

 

_**Thank you for the lovely reviews! Please keep letting me know what you think?** _


	10. Checkmate

**A/N - just a few warnings. This chapter veers into M territory for sexual themes and language. It also features an attempted assault on a woman, so if that is a trigger for you please be advised.**

 

“Check,” Killian smiled, moving the rook to the clear white square beside the black king.

He looked up. Emma was frowning, her brow lined in concentration as she studied the ebony and ivory pieces in front of them. Her tongue slipped out a little between her lips and her hand hovered over the board until, softly clucking her tongue, she swiftly drew the black knight into play, flicking Killian’s fated rook to one side with a delicate finger.

“Touché,” the pirate whispered and she responded with a one-sided smile that brought out the small dimples in her cheeks. “I must ask, where did you learn to play so well?”

She had picked up the felled piece and was rolling the cylindrical object between finger and thumb, “It was – is, I guess - my father’s favorite game. Ever since I can remember, he would sit me on his lap as he played, teaching me, telling me over and over, ‘strategy, Emma, strategy’.” She wagged her finger as she spoke, looking up at Killian as she dropped the chess piece to the table with a light clatter.

“Strategy is essential in life,” he nodded, holding her gaze for a second longer than was needed before pulling away and taking a mouthful of ale from his tankard. “Your father sounds wise.”

“Perhaps,” the lass agreed with a slight grimace, “But as a six year old child, you can see the lesson was not quite appreciated.”

And she laughed, just a little, but enough. It was a pretty, melodic laugh - light and carefree - that lit up her face. The rise of her lips lifted her cheekbones even higher and a light flush bloomed on her cheeks.

She looked almost pretty, he thought, despite her roughly cropped hair and the oversized male shirt that swamped her frame.

In these rare, unguarded moments over the past few weeks, he had come to ponder upon this Emma. An invitation to converse and relax in his cabin had become a regular occurrence. To begin with, she had taken to sitting to one side with a volume from his bookcase. Gradually, she had inched closer to where he sat at his desk, making casual remarks about the maps he studied or suggesting the next book he should read, until the conversation between them had flowed as easily as any river. In all, he had ample opportunity to observe this strange young woman, who through either bravery or foolishness had submitted herself to the dangers of the wider world.

She was a curious thing, he had decided. The separation between her persona as ‘Jack’ and the real girl Emma was becoming more apparent every day. The meter and pitch of her voice when it was just the two of them was almost hypnotizing. It had been so long since he had enjoyed a woman’s company and soft tones for longer than a night. He had forgotten how much he had missed it. Resigned, as he was, to a solitary life, he had tried to close that part of him off to the world - the part that craved more than a lonely life at sea.

She was knowledgeable, he’d found, and witty too. Her sphere of information included quite the detailed study of law and politics. They had debated on the merits of collaboration between kingdoms and the effectiveness of piracy laws (here, their opinions had differed somewhat). She had held him at every point and on one occasion, a few days earlier, their discourse had lasted almost ’til the sun had risen. 

Her company was becoming something he sought with relish. Her ease of manners and educated tongue were a welcome respite from the more debasing aspects of life on board a ship of men.

Killian was almost reminded of what his life may have been - even the kind of woman he may have loved - had life not chosen him a different fate.

“Captain?”

“Mmm?” He murmured, broken from his thoughts.

There was a puzzled look on her face, her brow lightly crinkled, “I asked if you wished to continue this tomorrow. The hour is late.”

He picked up the small mantle clock that sat on his desk. It was old and somewhat unreliable after being jostled through many a storm, but it served its purpose. The delicate black hands showed it was around midnight. Placing the clock back down, he sighed softly.

“Yes Emma, that is a good idea.”

As she made to stand, Killian automatically pushed back his chair. She gasped lightly at his formal gesture. Silently he cursed himself: he had almost forgotten the true nature of their discourse - almost imagined that he was once again a gentlemen, not a pirate, and she a lady who should be afforded all possible courtesies. He paused, mid bow, slowly straightening his back and offering a small smile of apology. She blushed, dipping her head and sinking her body slightly in a small curtsey.

“Goodnight sir,” she whispered as she left.

“Goodnight Emma,” he replied, her name lingering on his lips as the door closed behind her. 

A vague sense of loss came over him as he absentmindedly picked up the fallen rook. It was cool to the touch. He ran his thumb over the grooves in the pieces surface, remembering her cradling it in her palm only minutes earlier.

Until tomorrow, he thought as he returned it to the desk.

Tomorrow they would continue their game.

* * *

Some days she wasn’t sure who she was any more. First, she had been Emma: a princess and lady of leisure. Then, the persona of Jack and became her own - living like a boy for months, she’d almost forgotten her feminine side. But now, she was Jack during the daylight hours and Emma once more in the privacy of their cabins. It was enough to make the head spin and on more than one occasion she had almost forgotten herself in front of the other crew.

It was a strange kind of half freedom which she now enjoyed. Yet still, despite all his familiarity, she never let herself forget that Captain Jones was a pirate.

The morning after their game of chess, she was helping Dicken stretch out a canvas. The sun on deck was bright and tantalizingly warm on the skin. Dicken was telling her bawdy tales of his life as a young sailor, making her laugh and hide her blushes behind her cap.

At the wheel, the captain stood. His hook tacked around one of the spindles, staring out to the blank canvas of sea ahead with the barest hint of a smile on his face. He looked handsome when he smiled, Emma thought. It lightened his features and lifted the heaviness of his brow where he often seemed to bear the weight of a lifetime. 

He should smile more, she decided as she tugged and flexed the stiff material. Then she realized, with some surprise, that he had been recently. Perhaps not in public - not amongst the men, or on deck, but during those hours spent behind the door of his cabin, that smile had become more apparent. He would laugh when she told him of some of the scrapes that she had gotten into during her first forays dressed as a boy. He gently chided her when she made some remark about politics with which he disagreed (‘Now, is that the way for a lass to think?’ he would say). But most telling of all, was the way his lips curved softly when a silence fell in the cabin - when she was engrossed in a book and he thought she wasn’t aware that he was watching her. These secret smiles warmed her belly and sent prickly tingles down her spine.

Finished with her task, she brushed her palms on her trousers, the light grease of the canvas leaving streaks on the material. “Dinner later, Dicken?” she asked.

“Aye, Jack, I’d like that.”

* * *

The chess board was eagerly produced once she entered the cabin that evening - after her customary three knocks on the door and his formal reply of ‘enter’.

“I see you have not forgotten, Captain,” Emma smiled, as she pulled a three legged stool towards his desk.

“I never forget a challenge,” he replied before taking a sip of rum from his flask. “Drink?” he asked.

Normally, Emma would say no. After the drunken night which had let to the uncovering of her true gender, she had steadfastly avoided rum. But today - maybe it was the smile on his face, or the good mood in her belly - she grasped the outstretched flask and took a long draw. “Mmmm,” she murmured, the familiar alcohol descended pleasurably into her gut.

“Shall we?” the captain asked, gesturing to the game with a flourish of his hand.

“Ready to be whipped, Captain?” she teased. He cocked a brow at her and she blushed a little, dropping her head to scan the board.

“We’ll see,” he replied.

The game quickly advanced in-between sips of rum and a swell of confidence on her part. She felt freer that she had in such a long time. The banter tumbled easily from her lips as she let herself indulge in the fantasy that her life was different - that they had met under different circumstances and their time together was less a matter of intrigue and more one of equal minds meeting.

The competition was tense. More than once, check was called. 

“Come now Captain, surely you concede?”

Killian chortled in reply, reaching over the board to move his bishop into play. “Never.”

His voice was low and soft and he looked across the board at her, through the veil of his lashes. Emma couldn’t hide her smile. She reached out to move her queen into check, but she was too quick for his fingers and for a second they brushed together. Emma yanked back her hand in shock, heart racing as a shiver of electricity raced up her arm and down her spine.

She quickly looked back at him. He was staring at her. His hand still lingered over the board - his lips parted and head tilted slightly to the side. Her mouth felt dry and her cheeks hot.

“Sorry,” she whispered, clenching her fist and drawing it to her chest.

The captain’s eyes scanned over the girl’s face - as if he was looking for something, but she had no idea what. A surge of confusion came over her. No man had ever regarded her in the way the captain was doing so in that moment; like she were some kind of puzzle that he longed to conquer. His brows were pinched together in concentration as he leaned forward slightly and sucked in a breath as though he were about to speak-

“Forgive me, Captain-“she blurted out as she abruptly stood, jostling the table and knocking over some of the remaining pieces in play.

“Emma-“  he  began, as he rose a little from his seat, reaching out his hand as she awkwardly tried to right the pieces on the board.

“It’s late,” she replied, stepping back slightly.

“Emma,” he repeated. She gasped a little when his hand reached out and took hers in a light, but strong, grasp. She felt her heart race against her breastbone and an unfamiliar quickening in her belly. She had been touched many times by a man - in many more intimate ways - but for some reason, this simple gesture invoked in her a more violent response of unbridled attraction than she had ever felt.

Could he tell? Could he hear her heartbeat? Feel her pulse race beneath her skin? Sense the way her body responded to his touch?

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he continued, slowly releasing her hand.

“I’m not,” she told him as she grasped her hands behind her back and gave a small bow.

And she was only lying a little.

* * *

Her cheeks glowed scarlet when she let the door close behind her. She lay against the door jam and tried to catch her breath.

This was wrong. And dangerous too. Letting herself feel… whatever it was that had overcame her inside his cabin.

Her belly cramped a little at the memory of his hand brushing hers and the way their eyes had met - something had passed between them. But maybe she was imagining it…

She ambled the few steps to her own cabin, her hand finding the cold metal handle despite the blackness of the corridor. So preoccupied was she, that she didn’t feel the arm that slipped around her waist and pushed her into the small room until it was too late - another firm hand was laid across her mouth and she was pressed firmly against the closed door.

“Well, well,” came the cracked, broken voice of the intruder. 

Her eyes strained in the faint light of the cabin - the only illumination from the small lantern that hung from the rafters. The hand on her mouth was callous and rough. The intruder was closer now. His breath stank of stale ale and she grimaced as she tried to compose herself and think. Emma struggled against his restraint, but he was strong and gripped her arms tightly above her head.

“Now what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” he growled.

Emma’s eyes widened as she recognized the coarse tones of Porter. Her stomach clenched in fear. Why was he here? What was happening?

“Now love, I’m goin’ t’ let go of your mouth. Scream ‘nd your dead.”

She nodded lightly in response, not for a second thinking he was bluffing.

Porter lowered his hand, quickly pulling a short hilted knife from his jacket and pressing it against her throat.

“What do you want?” she asked quietly, trying to cover the fear in her voice.

“What do I want?” He let out a low, maniacal laugh. “Well, ‘ows ‘bout you start by tellin’ me who you are?”

“Who am I?” she replied, pulling back from the blade which was tugging against her skin, “You know who I am. Are you drunk?”

Her attempt at bravado was rebuffed with a cruel smile and the pressing of forearm against her chest.

“You’re as much a lad as I’m a king!”

He knew. How did he know?

Her mind raced.

“Now I know you are drunk,” she huffed, turning away her head, desperately trying to think.

Porter leaned closer. His dank, hot breath was moist on her cheek. “Ave seen ya, lassie, wi’ the captain on a night. I stood a’side and a ‘eard you talkin’. ‘E calls you ‘Emma’.”

Frantically, she scanned the room. He was pressed against her even tighter and she was under no illusion with what he planned to do with this new information.

“You’re insane,” she hissed in his ear.

“Only one way t’ tell.”

His face remained an inch from hers as he slowly dragged the dagger down the cotton of her shirt. The material ripped easily and cleanly. He bared his teeth to her - they were stained yellow and brown and some were absent from their positions.

She shivered at the cool air that was now glancing over her skin.

“Look what we ‘ave ‘ere…” he chuckled, running his thumb over the bandages that crisscrossed her chest, before pinching her flattened breast roughly with his hands. “I think you be lyin,’ miss.”

The dagger returned to her neck but she refused to look at him.

“So, you bin warming the captain’s bed, ‘ave you? He’s a sneaky bastard that Jones. I thought it were strange, ‘im ‘avin’ a cabin boy and all. Never had one afore.”

Emma’s breath was shaking. The point of the blade was piercing her skin and she felt a trickle of blood trail down her cheek.

“If you think I am the captain whore, then you are a fool to trifle with me,” she bluffed.

He rolled his hips. The hardness in his trousers pressed against her and she felt physically sick.

“It’s bin a while since I ‘ad a woman, lassie,” his hand released hers and tugged down the bandages a little until a breast was exposed. His snail-like tongue slid along his lips as he grabbed her roughly, squeezing her breast and then pulling down the rest of the bandages until she was bare from the waist up, “Such pretty little titties, love, shame to hide ‘em.”

Her chest ached at his crude touch. A sinking sensation of panic began to engulf her.

She needed to escape. 

He bent down to latch onto her breast with his dry lips. She took her chance. Grasping his shoulders, she launched a stiff knee into his groin. Immediately he howled in pain, dropping back a step with a hand pressed between his legs.

“You little bitch,” he hissed a second later, slapping her across the face, spinning her to one side and causing her to scream.

She pushed back from the corner of the room and clenched her fist, socking him in the jaw, catching him by surprise and he stumbled back, becoming quickly entangled in the hammock at the other side of the cabin.

Clutching the shreds of her shirt, she grabbed the cutlass she had kept hidden on the high shelf of the room for the past few weeks and held it out to him.

* * *

The noise from the next cabin roused him from his thoughts. He had remained frozen in one place since she had left. The feel of her hand in his still lingered on his skin. Her cautious smiles and dancing eyes were seared into his memory.

But it was all pushed aside at the sound of raised voices and a struggle.

Grabbing his sword, he dashed into the corridor. In a few steps, he was at the next cabin and with his fist he hammered on the dark wood.

The door was locked. Using his hip and shoulder, he reared back and forced his way inside. The wood splintered and he landed heavily inside, greeted by the sight of Porter staggering towards him.

“What in God’s name-“

“He attacked me,” came a voice from the side of the room. He spun his head to see Emma, her shirt in tatters, a short blade held out affront of her.

His eyes widened at the news. A wave of anger hit him - the edges of his vision turned dark and he pointed his sword at the errant crewman.

“Explain yourself,” he hissed, advancing so that Porter had to step backwards to avoid the tip of the blade.

“Capin, you know ‘ow it is… I got the urge-“ he gestured to his hips, “An’ then I foun’ you were keepin’ this lass ‘ere… I mean t’ say that Jack, is no Jack a’ all…”

He gave Killian a small, nervous smile. He felt repulsed at the thought of Emma being touched by the ruffian in front of him. His stomach turned and his face twisted into a snarl.

“You have no right to touch what is not yours.”

“And I belong to no one,” Emma added, stepping closer and pressing her blade against his throat.

“Come on Captain, be reasonable ‘ere. Is she a good fuck? We could share ‘er…”

“You are a piece of scum, Porter, you know that?” Killian reached over and pulled him close to him, pressing his sword against the fleshy underside of his chin, forcing him to tilt up his head. “Give me one good reason why I should not end you, here and now?”

Porter’s eyes widened in panic. Killian considered letting him go for a moment. Just for a moment.

The blade easily pierced his flesh. With a strangled moan, Porter struggled against the captain’s strong grasp, his legs thrashing against the floor as the blood flowed down the steel onto his hand. His eyes bulged, frothy blood began to form at his mouth and Killian twisted the blade, “Please…” he moaned as he slid to his knees before finally collapsing in a heap.

It was silent for a moment. He’d almost forgotten that Emma stood at his side until he heard her gasp. Releasing his blade, he turned to her. She was shaking, her hands clutching her weapon so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“You killed him-“ she whispered, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body as his blood drained away and seeped into the wooden floor.

“Aye,” Killian responded. 

“But you didn’t have to, you could have banished him-“

“Emma,” he replied firmly, “He would give you away in an instant. I can protect you against one man - but a whole ship full...” His voice trailed off and a lump formed in his throat. The thought of what could have occurred if Porter had not been subdued - if the other men had found out…

‘You killed him for me,” she said. It was not a question, but more of a wonder. She loosened her grasp on the cutlass and let it fall to the ground.

“I did.”

She seemed so small, so vulnerable as she stood with her arms pressed against her chest. He had an urge to pull her close, kiss her forehead and still her fear.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered, his finger pressing against the small wound on her neck, “And your cheek,” he added when he noticed the deep, purple bruise that as beginning to form where Porter had hit her.  


“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“No, you’re not,” Killian replied - not only talking about her physical wounds. “Come,” he insisted, “Go to my cabin. I will have this attended to.”

“Yes Captain,” Emma nodded, silently slipping past him. He watched her go, the earlier feeling in his chest returning and assaulting him - the fear of her being hurt pressing him closer to some kind of revelation.

* * *

She sat on the small stool, waiting for him to return.

 

She heard the hushed voices of Smee and the captain then the sound of something being dragged. After a short while, the door opened and Captain Jones stepped inside, a small towel and a bowl of water in his hand.

“It is dealt with,” he said as he walked to where she sat.

“Smee?”

“His silence was bought with gold. It will be said Porter was caught stealing from the hold. We will make a show of his body in the morning.”

The captain smiled tentatively and Emma let out a sigh of relief. “Come now, let’s tend to your wounds.”

“It is really not necessary,” Emma blushed as he sat beside her, dipping the cloth into the bowl.

“I insist,” he whispered.

Emma held her breath as he brought the cool, damp cloth to the trickle of blood that lined her throat. Soft little strokes pressed against her skin. He leaned closer, nudging the lantern on his desk to afford him more light. 

His touch was tender. Her eyelids had been tightly closed, but she let them open for a second only to be assaulted by his own blue eyes looking up at her.

“I suppose I should say thank you,” she said, averting her gaze from his, feeling hot and uncomfortable under his gaze.

“No need,” he replied as he placed the cloth back in the bowl before squeezing out the water that had been tainted a pinkish hue by the blood. “I told you, I’m a gentleman before all else.”

The captain took hold of her chin. His hand was cold and he tilted her head so that the bruising on her cheek was lit by the lamp.

“Then I thank you for being a gentleman. But I must reason that I was dealing with my attacker quite well before you attended me.”

Laughing in response, he sighed lightly, “I suppose you were, lass.”

Gently he pressed the cloth against her cheek. The cold water instantly soothed the burn where Porter’s hand had struck her. Emma moaned a little in satisfaction and pressed her cheek against the compress.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered, to herself, to him - she wasn’t sure.

“Yes, yes you can…”

Something made her open her eyes again. It was an urge, a feeling she had never encountered before. Her skin felt warm and her chest light. The fingers that grasped at her shirt loosened and her shoulders rolled back a little.

Such a peculiar feeling.

His head was tilted to one side. With his palm, he held the compress against her cheek.

“Emma…”

“Yes?”

Closer he moved, the cloth falling from his hand into her lap. His thumb traced the edge of her jaw and his fingers threaded into the hair behind her ear. The sensation of his fingers touching the skin of her scalp sent her breathing into a shudder.

Still he gazed into her eyes. Still he seemed to be searching for something. She was scared - frozen into place but the hesitant excitement of what may come next made her part her lips.

With his hooked arm swung around her waist, he pulled her closer till she was sitting between his knees.

“Emma…” he repeated, and how she longed for him to move that extra inch - to place those soft pink lips against her own. It was as if she had never wanted anything greater than she wanted this in that moment. That in order for her to continue to breathe he must hold her, own her-

The kiss was tentative. He pressed his mouth against hers so gently she could barely feel it at first. arching her back, she kissed him back, cautiously at first - soft moist lips meeting each other in a meandering dance. Then the fire in her belly began to roar to life. His hand slipped to the back of her head and she sank forward until she was almost in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her tongue along the seam of his lips.

Inside her body was awhirl. She knew not what she was doing, only that she didn’t want it to end. So that she grasped his shirt between her palms and held tight, as if should she let go the moment would not be real.

She had never been kissed like this. Nor, had she ever returned a man’s touch with such zeal, such fervor…

When he broke away, she instantly mourned the loss, tumbling back to her stool with a start.

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have, I was carried away by the intimacy of this setting, I took advantage of you-”

 _What?_ she thought. Shame flooded her. It was a mistake to him. He hadn’t meant to touch her. Clearly he did not feel the same way. His passions merely arisen by the blood he had drawn that night-

She blushed deeply, the shade as red as the crimson flag of the Jolly Roger. “I should go…” she whispered.

“I insist you stay,” he said, standing quickly and straightening his shirt, “Your cabin needs tending to and I have - matters to attend to.” He gave her a curt bow and dashed from the room.

The world was spinning. Emma let her body slip to the floor, hoping it would provide some respite, but it was of little help. Instead the memories of all the evening’s events hit her at once an overwhelmed, she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

On deck, the wind was strong and the untethered ropes whipped against the sails. In the distant horizon he could make out land.

Killian walked over to the main mast, checking the fixings and running his palm over the cylindrical tower of wood. He stretched his palm as wide as he could against the mast and dug his hook into its other side before pressing his forehead against it - trying to will away the feelings that were stirring within him.

It could not be. He had sworn a life of solitude. Any other way brought pain and misery in the end.

He pushed harder, the groves of the wood pressing into his skin, the pain taking away a little of the ache inside him.

Turning his head, he looked up at the sky and cursed whatever nameless god had turned the hand of fate this way - that had crossed his path with that of this woman. 

He was scared of himself. 

Watching the brief clouds turn over his head, he resolved to quit the acquaintance and avoid her.

Any other way and he feared he would be in grave danger of recanting his vow.

**A/N Your reviews and feedback are wonderful and inspiring. Thank you for all your support with this fic.**


	11. Ad Infinitum

**ad infinitum [latin]**

**adv**

**1\. without end; endlessly**

 

Emma tried to force herself to eat. She scraped her spoon across the small, pewter bowl and brought it to her lips  but they pursed involuntarily and she dropped the utensil back into the bowl with a clatter.

“Not like the stew?”

She smiled at the sound of Dicken’s voice behind her. “I’ve never been particularly partial, but today it seems there is more hard tack than anything else in it.”

“Cook’s runnin' low on anythin' fresh,” he replied as he sank to sit beside her on the low bench, “Good thing we’ve almost reached port.”

Picking up one of the hard biscuits, Emma tapped it against the uneven wooden table and nodded, “Indeed.

“But it’s more than that. You’ve bin awful quiet past few days.”

Dicken was a perceptive man, she thought. “Nothing passes you by, does it?”

He shook his head. The mess room was dark, although it was still daylight outside. The flickering light of the lantern thickened the deep ridges of age in his forehead and the loose skin below his eyes. On another man, it would make them seem tired, but the sparkle in his smile and expression gave him an unexpected appearance of youth.

“What’s wrong?”

Cautiously Emma looked around.

“No ones ‘ere love, but us.”

Sighing, she let her shoulders dip a little and pushed away the uneaten bowl of food. “I’m just tired,” she lied.

Dicken didn’t reply, instead he poured some weak ale from the jug on the table, into her tankard and pushed it towards her hand. Gratefully, she sipped the warm, yeasty brew, licking the remnants from her lips as she listened to the footsteps of the crew on the deck above.

“It’s Porter. He discovered me. He tried to hurt me.”

“Ah,” Dicken sighed, “A see.”

“I’d always worried what would happen, if someone knew. But you and the captain made me rethink that. Then he reminded me why I was so fearful in the first place.”

“He was scum, lass. No loss.”

“No,” she whispered, “I guess the world is a better place without him. But I’ll never forget the sound of his blade as it sliced through my shirt.”

His hand silently slipped over hers, squeezing it tightly. 

“‘Ow did ya kill ‘im?”

“I didn’t. I punched him, then Killi- the captain - heard the noise and came in with this sword. He doesn’t want me to be discovered any more than I do.”

“T’would not be good for ‘is position as captain.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Emma mused. She turned on the chair so that she was facing the old man. “Why is life so complicated Dicken?”

Scratching his forehead, he gave her a bemused smile, “God lass, ave bin askin’ myself that for nigh on my ‘ole life and am still nowhere near knowin’.”

Emma laughed softly before pulling back the bowl and stirring its contents. 

“Then I guess I’ll never work it out.”

“Maybe not lass.”

They were silent as she ate a few small spoonfuls.

“Anythin’ else on ya mind?”

His question took her back in time. To that moment in the cabin a few days earlier. The way the captain had looked in her eyes. The feel of his lips on hers and his hand in her hair.

Her heart raced and her fingertips went to her lips.

Crashing along after it was the realisation that he hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hadn’t meant to look at her like she was the world and make her heart leap. That it had been a mistake and she was a foolish, foolish girl for thinking otherwise, if even for a second.

Shame flooded her veins like a cool liquid dousing a flame.

“No,” she lied, “Nothing at all.”

* * *

The shallow harbour and low tide had rendered it necessary for the Jolly to remain anchored a distance from the port.  But Killian was eager and impatient to get ashore.

So, grabbing the leather pouch from his desk, he ordered Smee to lower the ship’s small tender and selected two strong deck hands to row him ashore.

Cranook Cove was one of the coarser ports on the eastern coast of the land mass that housed the outer realms. On three sides the small outcrop was surrounded by treacherous mountains that were completely impassible during the winter snow and that only the bravest (or most foolish) men attempted to conquer during the fairer months. As a consequence, the port had become a breeding ground for pirates and criminals who sought out its taverns to conduct their business free from the prying eyes of the law keepers who patrolled more accessible locations.

It was also the home of Jim ‘The Finder’ Robson. A man who staked his reputation on being able to find anything - or anyone. For a price, of course.

Once ashore, he paid the two men with a few coins and directed them to meet him back at the tender in three hours.

Quickly he wove his way through the cramped, narrow streets that stank with the stench of stale beer and the open sewer than ran down its center. On either side of him, cramped and haphazard buildings lined the litter strewn path. Each one built with seemingly little care, giving the appearance that a strong wind could cause them to come tumbling down like a pack of cards.

The hour was still early. The sun, yet low in the sky, did not penetrate the dark alleyways that crisscrossed the town. Evidence of the night before’s activities peppered the landscapes: discarded bottles of beer and rum - broken and whole, evidence of piss and vomit staining the faded paint of the buildings and, occasionally, a drunk or two asleep in a doorway.

But Killian paid no heed to this and hurried towards the far end of town where he hoped Robson still resided.

A sudden flash of gold broke Killian from his task for a moment. He looked up and saw a lass running along the road, long blonde hair tumbling down her back, her grey cloak fluttering as she ran. Hypnotized, he paused and watched her hair sway in the breeze and with the light movement of her feet, until she disappeared into an unseen alleyway.

_Emma._

He’d tried to hard not to think of her.

Since that night, since that  _kiss_ , Killian had avoided the young woman, ordering Smee to set her about tasks that kept her far from him. He even refused to look in her direction, though he always seemingly knew when she was near, as if her mere presence burned an impression on his skin.

Alone, in his cabin, his lips had tingled at the memory of her. The sweet taste of her mouth lingered on his tongue. The impression of her body lightly pressed against his sent a wave of pleasure rippling down his spine.

It was wrong and he knew it was so, but still days later, the sensations lingered, like some cruel torment.

He continued, his mind full of her.

For so long now, his mind and heart had been closed. No admittance accepted into the barren space in his chest that had been filled with hate and revenge and sheer damnation at the injustice that life had dealt him. Love had no place in a pirates heart, he had conceded.

When the urge had came, a warm body had been easily found to bring to his bed. Pliant and soft and eager to please, they fawned over his reputation. They bared their bodies to him, they kissed him, they lay out before him and let him relieve the tension inside.

They meant nothing to him. They elicited no greater feeling in his gut than that which arose from the satisfying of a thirst.

He’d conceded that he was no longer capable of more. And he had accepted it.

But then she’d been there, so vulnerable and shy, yet so strong and capable. Her green eyes had danced in the lantern light. She’d been so close- smelling of soap and salt and woman…

And when he’d kissed her, it had been all things and nothing at once. His mind had numbed, all pain had been pressed out. His heart had raced and stomach had tightened and that long doused flame of passion that had once resided in his chest sparked into life, jolting him into reality.

An honest man would have admitted it scared him.

But Killian Jones was incapable of that intimate honesty which this required. So instead, he pushed away and hid himself from the feeling. Buried it in his chest in a box marked ‘danger’.

Because anything else would lead to inevitable sorrow.

His introspections had shortened the perception of his journey and he was soon stood outside the crumbling walls of Robson’s abode. The small house was dark inside, the windows were coated in an untouched layer of muddy dust.

He banged on the door. Most likely Robson was still in a drunken stupor, so he did not stop until he heard the muttering of blistering curses in a strong brogue and the sound of locks being released.

The door opened and the blinking figure of Jim Robson stood bathed in the low morning light. His brownish-grey hair was heavily receding and the balding dome of his head was red and peeling. Robson smiled when he saw the pirate, bearing a mouth of blackened, crumbling stumps and raising a reddened glow on his rounded cheeks.

“Jones!” he cried, stepping forward to embrace the captain in a strong hug, slapping him on the back a few times until he let go. “Where the bleedin’ hell have you been?”

“Pirate,” he gave by way of a response, raising his hand in an apologetic gesture. The other man merely laughed and gestured him inside. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Killian?”

Killian sat at the offered chair in the small parlour at the back of the house. The room was dark and stuffy, smelling strongly of snuff and tobacco. A small, greying table was pushed in one corner, on its surface a plate bearing the remnants of a meal. Opposite it was a tall, wooden cupboard - about the height of a man - and around the outside of the room was an odd assortment of mismatched chairs.

“Been decorating?” Killian quipped as he eyed his surroundings.

“You know my coin only goes on three things Killian - rum, women and more women!” Robson roared with laughter at his own joke and Killian gave a small smile in response. 

A bottle of rum was produced and Robson poured two drams before settling on an faded, upholstered chair whose stuffing seemed determined to escape its embroidered prison.

The two men sipped quietly, the comfortable silence a kind consequence of two men who had known each other many years. At length, Killian pulled the pouch from his coat and tipped the swan pendant onto the table.

“What’s this?” asked Robson.

“A clue.” Killian picked up the necklace and rolled the pendant between his fingers. “This, my friend, was the property of Queen Ava.”

“And how did it come to be in the possession of a dirty fella like you?”

“It was clutched to Liam’s body when he was murdered. I find the owner, I find his killer. I get my vengeance.”

“A worthy cause indeed,” muttered the older man, “God bless your brother’s soul.”

“So, can you tell me what you know of that royal family?”

Robson scratched his chin then took the pendant from Killian, lifting it up and squinting at it in the trickle of light that came in through the room’s only window.

“Well, Ava died long ago, as you know. She had one daughter, Princess Snow - and on her father’s death she became queen.”

“This I know. And I also know that the princess died many years ago, but this does not help me trace ownership of the pendant.”

“Who said she was dead?” asked Robson mysteriously.

Killian frowned and leaned back a little in his chair, “She drowned. I remember, it was not long after Liam and I joined the Jolly. The news spread like wildfire.”

Robson smiled and leaned closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face, “Maybe not. I heard - from a very reliable source - that the queen was in debt to someone. That perhaps her ‘disappearance’ was planned.”

“You mean she’s still alive?”

Killian’s ears buzzed with the sound of blood pumping quickly at this news. A clue, a lead - finally.

Robson twisted his face and sank another dram. Killian reached into his pocked and pulled out a heavy, gold coin and tossed it at his friend.

He rubbed the coin between his fingers, before placing it in his mouth and pressing his remaining teeth against its surface. Seemingly satisfied, he placed it in the watch pocked of his stained waistcoat and continued.

“In a word - yes.”

“And you know where she is?”

“Maybe,” he answered coyly.

Sighing, Killian tossed out another coin and Robson’s eyes lie up.

“If you wanted to disappear, where would you go?”

Killian shook his head and looked upwards, “Somewhere where no one knew my name, or my face…”

“Somewhere quiet, few people about, lots of places to lay low…”

A sudden though popped into Killian’s mind. “The plains of Terra.”

Robson nodded and took another drink.

The barren and lonely plains of Terra reached from the far edges of the enchanted forest to the Rinian Sea. Very little grew or lived in this unforgiving environment - its harsh winters and scorching summers so infamous across all the realms. The natives of this land eked out an existence trapping the small, wild animals that roved in packs and harvesting the roots and shrubs that sprouted from place to place, selling the plants for their medicinal properties to traders who arrived my boat.

“And she still lives?” Killian asked.

“So far as I know,” Robson replied. “I’ve been sat on that information for quite the number of years, mind. Knew it would come in useful.”

“It has indeed, thank you.”

“Thank  _you!”_  Robson laughed, patting the small pocket that held the two gold coins. 

And not wanting to wait a moment longer, Killian said his goodbyes and left/

* * *

Back aboard the Jolly, Killian set about making preparations for the journey to Terra.

Emma had spent the day under Mr Smee’s direction and was mending rope on deck when he returned and began to give out orders to the crew.

She watched his determined face as he stalked about the deck, chastising those who lazed about and threatening a long walk off a short plank to any man who didn’t pull his weight. She’d never seen this side of the captain, he seemed so harsh in comparison to the man she had come to know.

Soon, he slipped down the staircase into his cabin. Dropping the rope, she hurried below deck, pausing at his door before knocking three times, as was her custom.

“Enter,” he replied.

She did as he ordered. Inside, he was hunched over his desk, a roll of parchment map stretched out in from of him.

“Captain,” she said, nodding her head slightly.

“Hmmm?” he hummed, not looking her way.

“I wanted to ask how long til the next safe port? Smee said our next stop was-“

“Plans have changed,” he snapped, bundling up the scroll and tossing it aside, “I’m sorry but your release will have to wait a little longer.”

“But you promised…” she whispered.

“And I am a man of my word. But more pressing matters need to be attended to and I doubt you would wish to be stranded either here or in the destination to which we are next to sail. Now please leave.”

His words were curt and sharp and he refused to look in her direction. They stung a little and for the first time in days she began to worry that perhaps her trust in this man had been misguided, that maybe he was lying to her all along…

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she sighed as she slipped away.

 

His only response was a rough huffing noise as she quietly closed the door.

_**Thank you once again for all your feedback, follows, favourites and reviews - you fuel my muse!** _


	12. Masks - Part 1

_**A/N - Because I love writing all this and your wonderful feedback is so inspiring, here's another chapter. J x** _

Two weeks it had taken to reach land again. Two rain-sodden, storm-ridden torturous weeks. The crew down to basic rations of salted meat and pickled vegetables. Every day the captain standing at the helm, staring off into the distance. At no point did he explain to the crew their destination, nor did they ask - that was not the way aboard a ship. Instead, they obediently toiled through the harsh weather and the strict rule of their commander.

* * *

The grey-blue color of the endless water was a fitting representation of the mood that had hung over her since they had left Cranook Cove barely twelve hours after reaching it.

After her discussion with the captain, Emma had slunk back on deck and resumed her earlier task - sleepwalking through the next few days in a daze of confusion and worry. He wasn’t who she thought he was. She had foolishly allowed herself to be seduced by his educated tongue and intimate demeanor into forgetting that she barely knew this man. Maybe didn’t know him at all.

And that he was a pirate.

And as she scrubbed the mess tables a week later, she decided she was angry: firstly at herself and at him. At her father for being so vacant since her mother had left; for making her feel so alone that she could not turn to him. At her stepmother for trying to push her into marriage and forcing her to flee.

And to her mother. For dying.

Hot salty tears had mixed with the dirty suds as she punished the wood with the coarse bristles of the brush. Each stroke an attack on her weakness. No longer, she decided, would she allow the actions of others to play such a pivotal role in her own feelings. She was a strong, intelligent, capable woman and it was about time she started acting as one.

Fuelled by her newfound anger, she tossed the brush aside and rushed to the ladder that led up to the deck. There were few around. The night was approaching quickly and a fine drizzle hung in the air. He was still there, motionless at the helm, hand on the wheel - standing like a sentry guarding some ancient treasure.

He didn’t notice her at first. He seemed lost almost. She moved to stand in front of him.

“Captain.”

“What is it,” he answered in an irritated tone.

“I demand to know our destination.”

He flashed her a quick glance before looking back again across the ocean. “I’ve told you it is none of your concern.”

She stepped closer, grabbing the wheel and tugging it to the right. “And I think the least you owe me is an explanation.”

“Owe you?” he laughed and rolled his shoulders back, releasing his grip on the wheel. She was still tugging it tightly and the force or her body weight caused her to tumble to the ground, falling to a heap at his feet.

“Yes,” she spat, quickly pushing herself off and brushing away the damp dust of the deck, “I don’t recognize you. In fact,” she took a step forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, “I’m not sure I’ve ever known who you are. We had a deal.”

His eyes were cold and dark, tinged with steely determination.

“We’re headed to Terra. I have a debt to settle.”

“But that’s near the Enchanted Forest.”

“Aye,” he replied, a bored expression crossing his face.

“You promised me safe passage away from that realm. You know my situation.”

She quickly looked around to make sure no one was overhearing their conversation.

“I’m sorry to inform you -  _love_ \- but you are not my priority. In fact, your presence has been quite the untimely distraction. So do yourself a favor, go away, keep your head down and be thankful I haven’t revealed your secret.”

“You wouldn’t,” she hissed, “It would make you a laughing stock amongst your crew.”

“Try me,” he whispered, bringing his face inches from hers. She stared at him. His face was a mask. Cold and unmoving, one side of his mouth curved unnaturally. 

But his eyes-

For a second, they flickered. Wavered from their coolness, a flame of warmth - that familiar one, the one she had seen just before he kissed her - appeared briefly, and she held her breath. Then it was gone.

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she made to leave, “Just who are you Killian Jones? Pirate or gentleman? You can’t be both.” And without waiting for him to reply, she turned on her heels and stalked away.

* * *

“How long are we gonna be here, Smee?”

After another long day anchored in the desolate seas just off the coast of Terra, one of the younger crewmen finally asked what had been on the minds of the men for the past week.

“When the captain is finished his business,” answered the first mate with a scowl.

Emma watched the scene from her place across the deck.

“But ‘e’s bin gone for a week.”

“And he may be another week still, but this is still his ship and he left me in charge. Hold ya tongue and get on with your graftin’”

The young lad dipped his head and sulked off.

Emma sighed.

Whatever the captain was up to, he was clearly keeping it a secret. He had left alone, early one morning, with instructions for the ship to wait for his return. The men on board had been obedient at first - keeping to their routine as usual. But within a few days an air of tension had risen. The captain’s peculiar behavior of the past few week was starting to cause concern. Whispers abound that maybe he had gone mad - finally succumbing the grief that had surrounded him since his brother’s passing.

Emma didn’t know. But she knew that something had happened and they could only wait for him to return and perhaps provide some answers.

* * *

And so he did, three days later.

Emma was aloft the rigging, checking the sails for damage for Dicken when she saw the tender approaching from the coast. The captain was dragging the oars through the waters of the bay. As the small boat came closer, she could see another figure in the boat. Their hands were bound and a burlap sack had been placed over their head - a prisoner.

Soon the ship had reached the hull and the rope ladder was lowered. The captain climbed aboard, ordering Smee to arrange for his passenger to be brought up and placed in the brig.

Curiosity burned as she watched the events unfold. The prisoner was dragged roughly. They were dressed in coarse, leather breeches with a vest made of a patchwork of fur. They seemed to be quite small, but strong enough to tussle with the men who who held each arm as they were dragged below deck. Who was this person who had sparked a race across oceans?

Slipping away, a few hours later, had been surprisingly easy. The crew were preparing again to sail and a happy buzz clung amongst them - desperate as they were for a night in a decent port. She ambled past small groups as they talked of fresh beer, fresh meat and fresh women to occupy them within a few days sail.

The brig was below the waterline in the very bowels of the ship - where the ceilings were low and a permanent dank stench hung in the air. She crept along the narrow pathway through the hold, until the flickering of a lantern and the sound of voices made her pause. Quickly, she hid behind a barrel and listened.

“You can stop lying, I know who you are.”

It was the captain.

“I am not,” came the curt reply. A woman’s voice. Ever more curious, Emma snuck a little closer, positioning herself behind a large trunk which afforded her a view into the brig’s compartment. The captain’s back was to her, he was pacing in front of the small prison’s iron bars.

“Come now, love, this is getting us nowhere. You either give me the answers I seek or I starve them out of you.”

“Fine,” the prisoner replied, “I’ve spend 10 years living in Terra. Hunger is second nature to me.”

“Well, how do you feel about torture?”

“About the same as I do about pirates. It should be eliminated.”

“Oh,” hissed the captain, as he sank down on one knee, “Strong words from one in such a  _vulnerable_ situation.”

Now he was almost sitting, Emma could see into the cell. Though it was dark she could make out a woman with long, wavy black hair.

“I’ve been in worse spots,” she quipped. “Now what do you want with me,  _pirate?_ We’ve never crossed paths so I’m certain you have no quarrel with me.”

“Perhaps not,” he continued, stretching to stand again, “But I believe you are connected to the death of my brother.”

“And why would you think that?” she asked.

“Because of this,” he replied, and he opened his clenched fist and a small pendant tumbled down and hung on its chain from his fingers.

“Where did you get that?” the woman snapped.

“From the dying hands of my brother, lass. Or should I say  _queen_.”

_Queen?_ Emma thought, craning her neck for a better look.

The woman didn’t reply. Killian sighed and tucked the pendant into his pocket. “Come now, let’s stop these games.” His voice had turned soft - almost conspiratorial.  “You are Snow White.”

_Snow White?_

_No. Impossible, that was impossible. No…_

She couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips. Nor the way her body tumbled forward and fell heavily to the floor. Urgently she tried to push herself up and run. But she was too slow.

“Who goes there?”

His boots were by her face and his hand grabbing at the neck of her shirt before she could reply. He tugged her up roughly, his expression becoming confused when he saw who it was.

“Emma?” he hissed.

But her heart was pounding and all she could think about was that name: Snow White. She shook herself free and stumbled the few steps to the dim light of the brig. The prisoner was standing back from the barred door, cloaked in darkness.

“Emma,” Killian repeated, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her around. He paused when he saw the fear in her eyes. She saw him again - the man she thought she knew. God she was confused by this never ending parade of masks he wore.

“Please,” she whispered, grabbing his hooked arm at the elbow and holding him tight. Not caring that she was vulnerable, not worried what he would do next, just needing to  _know_. “Is it true? Is that Queen White?”

He gave her a queer, questioning look, before answering with a curt now and a whispered, “Aye.”

The tears instantly sprang forth from her eyes and she span from his grasp, circling her fingers around the cool iron bars of the cell. “Mother? Mother? Is it really you?”

Silence. Then a few quiet footsteps as the prisoner emerged into the light. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a streak of white weaving down from her crown.

“Emma?”

The voice was soft, not like the woman who had spoken minutes earlier. It was timid, frightened and shaking a little. Then Emma looked at her face. Searching for those familiar lines and curves that had lulled her to sleep, kissed her, whispered words of encouragement as a child.

A sob rose in her throat. Gentle at first. Painfully hard and choking within seconds.

It was her. Her mother. The mother who she thought was dead. But she wasn’t, she was alive and Emma didn’t know what to think or do-

“Yes mother, it is I,” she sniffed, shuddering tears rolling down her cheek as her mother’s hands encircled her own.

The reunion was abruptly ended when the captain cried, “What the bloody hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Emma answered honestly, “I thought you were dead,” she whispered to her mother. Snow bit her lip and tilted her head.

“I had to leave. It was complicated…”

“You left me,” she replied, as though she had only just realised what this meant. She pulled her hands away from the bars and flattened them against her chest, “I thought you died. I mourned you.  _Father_  mourned you. He remarried…”

“I’m sorry Emma, I can explain-“

“Please do,” interjected an annoyed Killian from behind her.

The room was spinning; she thought she would faint. Her head felt light and dark spots were appearing at the edges of her vision.

“I can’t do this -  I can’t think. I must go,” muttered Emma, turning her back on the cell, “I need to think…”

She pushed past the still stunned captain, ignoring her mother’s calls to wait and his demands she return. 

In a daze, she climbed the ladder to the deck where her cabin was situated.

Her chest suddenly felt incredibly tight. She slammed the door of her room and quickly pulled off her shirt and tugged at the bandage on her chest, sucking in deep gasps of air as the restriction was eased, then flopping face down onto her hammock as her mind raced.

Maybe she had imagined the whole thing. Maybe this was some strange dream and she would awake in the morning and her perception of the last ten years would not have been turned upside down in an instant. Maybe it was a cruel joke. Maybe.

But she knew, in her heart, that this was real. That she’d gone  _by choice._ A tragic tale of a mother lost at sea, was now a sordid one of an abandoned child and all the emotions and feelings that abandonment brings soared through her. She wanted to ask her why. To shake her and beg her to explain what could have possibly induced her mother to leave, to let them think she was dead. It was unforgivable.

But for now she pressed her face against the canvas and let the tears she had so long held inside freely flow.

* * *

He had pressed the queen for more information, but when Emma had fled the brig she had refused to talk any more. She seemed dazed and vacant. He knew it was a fruitless endeavour and he was tired after his long search. He would return in the morning and hope she was more forthcoming.

But he needed answers, now, from Emma.

He made his way to the deck, asking for her whereabouts, but none knew. The cabin was his next stop. Not pausing to knock, he barged inside to find her laying on her hammock, bare from the waist up. Immediately he felt a heat rise on his cheeks and an automatic, ‘sorry’ fell from his lips. He turned away for a moment, listening to her tugging on a shirt.

“What do you want?” she snapped. He looked back over his shoulder and saw her standing with her arms crossed and tear stained cheeks.

“I want answers. I think I deserve them - this is my ship.”

She stared at him, jaw set. “Your prisoner,  _Captain,_ is my mother.”

“I gathered that rather quickly, love. But that now leads me to understand that you have been lying to me.”

“I haven’t lied,” she snapped, “Not about anything important, anyway. The story I told you is true.”

“I think omitting the part about being royalty is tantamount to lying.”

“Being a woman is dangerous enough. Admitting to being a princess is practically suicide.”

He watched her shiver a little.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he replied cooly.

“Neither do I,” she said with a wry smile. “So what now, Captain. Now you know my true identity. Ransom? Or perhaps selling me to the highest bidder is more your style.”

Killain’s brow crumpled at her suggestions. He hadn’t thought what he would do with this information. His annoyance at the hiding of her lineage had clouded his mind and now this mist was clearing he knew not what he felt.

But he could see in her eyes that she feared him. The closeness the two had developed had evaporated and it was clear she now just saw the pirate he ostensibly was. Such a good job he had done of pushing her away, he realized, that now she had closed herself from him - acted the brave lass and tried to hide her true self.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“What else am I supposed to?”

Nodding understanding, he took a step back. “Well love. As things stand, I have more pressing issues to deal with. I’ll decide what I will, or will not, be doing with you later. Stay in your cabin. I’ll have Dicken bring your meals and tell the men you are sick. I don’t need your distractions about me any more.”

“What of your prisoner - my mother?”

Killian glanced at her sideways. Her green eyes were wide and tinged with red. She looked weak and broken. Like she had given up almost.

He didn’t reply.

She repeated her entreaty as he closed the door.

His chest ached a little as he walked away, the weight of the afternoon’s revelations hanging heavy on his heart.

 

 


	13. Masks - Part 2

_Three years earlier, The Enchanted Forest_

“Smile, Emma.”

The young princess tried to stretch her lips appropriately, but her eyes remained dull as the open carriage rode through the city.

Opposite, her father sat upright, his left arm raised in greeting to the thronging crowd that lined the roadside. The people held out flowers and reached up their arms; small children sat on their parents’ shoulders while the older boys and girls perched on the windowsills and flat roofs of the surrounding buildings. Everyone was craning to catch a glimpse of their beloved king and his young daughter as they left the kingdom for his impending wedding.

She felt sick as the carriage lurched along the dirt road - for days now she hadn’t been able to eat, hadn’t been able to smile - hadn’t been able to do anything other than dwell on the fact that her father had given up her mother for dead.

_“It’s been seven years my sweet, we must move on - the kingdom must move on,”_ _he had explained that dreadful evening in the library. He’d called for her after dinner. Emma had smiled thinking he meant them to play chess again, but the smile soon slipped when he had drawn his chair closer to hers and unfolded a letter offering the hand of Princess Anya to her father, alongside a large dowry._

_“How can you? You still love my mother, you can’t deny it.”_ _His face had instantly crumpled at her words and he pressed his lids closed, almost as if he was holding back tears. “And this woman?,” she continued, “Who is she? You’ve never even met her-“_

_“She is a good match,”_ _he replied quietly. “You forget how lucky your mother and I were,”_ _he reached out and stroked his thumb across her cheek, “Love matches are rare among royalty. Our duty is to our bloodline and our kingdom.”_

_Emma had swallowed back the truth of his words. She knew what he meant: one day she would have to make a choice and find a suitable match for herself._

_“I know this is hard for you, but I do this for the good of our subjects. Perhaps you can even come to see this woman as a mother figure. I know how hard it has been for you…”_

_The silence that fell sent both deep into their memories._

_Seven years ago. The message she was lost. The search. The fading hope. The hours both spent locked in their chambers. The day, six months later, when the search was officially halted._

So she tried, for his sake, to do as he asked, to put on a happy face for the crowd - return their smiles and wave. It was something she had gotten quite good at over the years, hiding behind a royal smile.

* * *

Of course, she didn’t pay much heed to his direction to stay in her cabin. The air below deck was warm and hard to breathe and she couldn’t rest no matter how hard she tried.

Shaking off her boots, she slipped out into the corridor and hurried down towards the brig. She needed to see her again.

The lamp that had earlier been lit had been put out. The hold was pitch black, so Emma took a candle from one of the storage boxes near the ladders and lit it with match from her pocket.

The candle provided only a small amount of light, but as she approached the cell, she could see a figure lain out and covered with a rough, grey blanket. Emma sank to her knees and placed the candle on the floor. The tumbling black hair was just as she remembered - she could still remember how it felt when she balled her fists in her mother’s curls when they embraced. She reached through the bars and pushed back a few, thick strands to reveal the pale, creamy skin that lay underneath.

The dark brows and red lips were the same as the last time she had said goodbye - so many years ago, Emma was beginning to lose count. Her skin was older, lined around the eyes and across her forehead, but there was no denying it was her. Snow White, her mother, was alive and not two feet away from her.

She started to cry again, pealing tears of sadness and happiness and anger - all mixed together until she didn’t know which had the strongest hold over her emotions. Scared she would wake her mother, she snuffed out the candle with her damp fingertips and hurried away. She wasn’t ready to talk to her - not yet anyway.

Rather than returning to her cabin, she sought the sea air to which she had become so accustomed. It was raining, but she barely felt it as the raindrops mingled with her tears.

* * *

_14 years ago, somewhere at sea_

“Liam! What’s happening?”

The sound of shouting and cannons being prepared filled the air. The crew scrambled about the deck, panic-stricken looks on their faces.

Liam was bellowing orders and Killian followed him - confusion etched across his face. Finally, the older brother turned around and grasped his shoulders.

“Brother, we are being pursued by a ship flying the crimson flag-“

“Pirates…” Killian whispered, understanding finally dawning.

Liam nodded gravely. “There’s a good chance we will be outrun and overpowered, and you must promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Killian nodded, clutching at his brothers shirt.

“Show no fear. If we are boarded, lay down your sword but do not be meek - show them you are not to be trifled with. Pirates aren’t stupid-“

“Yes brother - but what of the stories of them? They murder all aboard-“

Liam squeezed his hands tighter, “No good captain wastes a strong man. Remember that.”

“Aye,”  he  nodded.

“And Killian?” Liam began, as he loosened his grip, “Remember I love you.”

“And I you,” the younger brother echoed softly, as he watched the lieutenant walk away.

* * *

“Now then, my lady, perhaps you are feeling a little more open to my questioning this morning.”

Killian flicked out the tails of his coat and sat on the small stool that he had placed in front of the brig bars. He pulled his flask of rum from his vest and proceeded to take slow, measured sips.

“I want to speak to my daughter first.”

The captain let out a snort of laughter and leaned a little closer to the prisoner, “I am under the distinct impression that she does not wish to speak to you.”

Snow scowled in response, shifting her hair from her shoulders across to her back and walking forward to grip the cold, iron bars.

Killian looked down, rubbing the toe of his boot against a little drop of wax that was stuck to the wooden floor. 

They each waited for the other to speak, Killian exuding a nonchalant air of confidence that he had perfected over the years while the queen stood frozen in place beside the bars.

“Well, this is going to be a long day I fear,“ he quipped.

“Bring my daughter and I will tell you what you want,” she replied quietly.

“The one you abandoned?” he teased, standing as he spoke so that he loomed over her, using his height to try and intimidate the slight woman.

“Our relationship is of no concern to you, pirate. Bring her to me and then we will talk. Until then, adieu.”

She gave him a false smile and a mocking curtsey, before turning her back and sitting on the floor. Killian growled in frustration, watching her for a few moments before giving up.

* * *

“I don’t want to,” Emma hissed as she struggled against the grip he had on her arm. After dragging her down the ladder to the hold, she managed to break free but he blocked her way back with his body.

“Your darling mother refuses to speak to me until she sees you.”

“I don’t care about your problems,” she snapped, trying to shove his body out of her way.

“Well you should, love,” he replied, gripping her shoulder tightly and staring down into her with a cool look.

“And why is that?” she asked, stopping her struggle exploring his face for clues.

He let go and took a step back, wiping his hand across his jaw, before turning back with a softer expression, “You and I both know the pain of loss, love. I’ve been searching for a cure to my suffering for years now-“

“Since your brother died,” she interjected.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Whether you like it or not, your mother is back, but my only family was taken from me. I will do anything to avenge his death.”

The sincerity of his voice cut into her. As much as she had loathed him in recent weeks, as confused as she had become about his true self - the honesty and pain in his words rung true and she felt pity.

“And you think my mother can help you?” she asked softly.

He nodded. He didn’t say anything else, just stepped back and began to take deep breaths. The path back to the ladders was clear and Emma looked briefly in that direction before flicking her gaze back to him.

“Five minutes,” she said.

* * *

She walked the short distance in silence. Once within a few feet of the doors, she paused and tried to calm her racing heart. Her mother must have heard her footsteps and instantly she turned, her face crumpling when she saw Emma standing in the doorway.

“My darling,” she sobbed, reaching her arms through the bars.

Emma flinched and pulled back.

“Emma, my love, please talk to me.”

The urge to cry was strong. She rubbed her eyes with her fingers and began to chew on her lip. The pain was fresh again, the wounds of ten years being slowly unpicked the longer she stood in her mother’s presence.

“Please,” Snow begged.

“What do you want me to say?” Emma asked quietly, pulling off her woollen cap as she refused to meet her mother’s eye.

“Your hair! What have you done!” the older woman gasped. Emma ran her fingers over the blunt edges of her locks that were now hanging just below her chin.

“Well, a lot of things change in ten years.”

“I deserved that,” Snow admitted, finally lowering her hands to her side. “Why are you here? Were you captured? Your father-“

“He’s fine,” Emma replied, rolling so her back was against one of the wooden pillars, “Back home with his new wife.”

“Oh. Of course… Is he- did they-“ The queen’s voice trailed off as she sought the words she was looking for.

“He doesn’t love her, if that’s what you are asking. And no, they have no children. Rumor has it they don’t often lay together.“

“Emma!” Snow cried.

“What? You want the truth, don’t you Mother? You expect my wonderful father to be celibate while you disappear to God knows where for the past ten years?”

Emma’s heart raced with hot, angry blood. She balled her fists and clenched her jaw.

“I had to leave, you don’t understand, I will explain, I promise-“

“Perhaps,” Emma replied cooly, “But I can’t think of any just reason for a mother to leave her child.”

She finally looked into the cell. Her mother’s dark eyes were filled with water that was just beginning to roll down her cheeks. She looked solemn, taking her daughter’s chastisement in a much calmer manner that she would have expected.

“I see,” the queen sighed. “And perhaps you will never forgive me. But believe me I never, not for one second, stopped loving you. If I had stayed, you would have been in danger.”

Emma stared at the small figure behind the bars. She looked so weak and broken - not the strong woman she remembered who ruled her kingdom with the wisdom of twenty men. What had happened to her? A sudden urge to touch her began to overwhelm Emma - arriving as if from nowhere. She needed time, she needed to see if she could understand her mother’s disappearance - but all she wanted in that instant was to be held in her mother’s arms.

She reached for the heavy, black key that hung from the pillar and placed it in the lock on the left side of the door of iron bars. The metal scraped against each other and there was a clunking sound that told her the mechanism was released. Pulling open the door, she took a step into the small cell.

Snow held out her hand, taking her daughter’s and tangling their fingers together as the tears flowed quicker down her cheeks, staining them and turning her skin a blotchy pink. Emma shuffled forward, slowly placing her head on her mother’s shoulder, joining her in her soft sobs and their arms wrapped around each other for the first time in ten years.

“My child,” Snow whispered as she ran her hands over her daughters back.

They broke apart at the sound of heavy boots clipping against the floor. Emma ran the back of her hand across her face and used her tongue to wipe the salty tears from her lips.

“How touching,” snipped the captain as he approached.

“Are you mocking me, pirate?” replied the queen.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said with a mock bow and a smirk on his face.

Emma released her mother and backed out of the cell, keeping her eyes locked on the other woman’s.

“Now, time to talk.”

“What do you want to know?” Snow replied flatly.

“You are Snow White?” She nodded. “Daughter of Queen Ava?”

“And your point?” she snapped.

He stepped into the cell and reached his hand into his vest, once more he pulled out the pendant.

Emma watched from the side as the pirate captain approached her mother, dangling the nugget of silver in front of her face. “This was your mother’s.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Then can you explain how it came into the possession of my brother on the night he was killed?”

His air was light but his expression darkened as he mentioned Liam. Emma watched in confusion - what possible part could her grandmother have played in a pirate’s death?

“Captain Jones?” asked the queen, her eyes narrowing.

“Aye, that is my name-“

“No, your brother, his name was Jones?”

“Yes, how did you-?”

The queen pushed her hair back from her forehead and began to slowly pace the small width of the cell. “It was so long ago, I barely remember…” she sucked in a deep breath. “I was running from- well, that doesn’t matter. I met your brother in a tavern in some port - what was its name?  Well, anyway, I bartered for passage on his ship. That pendant was the down payment for my fare.”

Snow stopped walking and turned to look at Emma, giving her a small smile, “I’d hoped if I could get far enough away, maybe I could send some message or code to my kingdom…” She shook the thought from her mind, “We sealed the deal with a handshake and I left to gather the rest of my possessions from where I had been hiding.”

“Well love, that’s a fine story, but it does not explain how my brother ended up dead, this pendant in his hands, lying in the dirt in a back alley.”

Snow began to wring her hands in front of her. The captain sighed and reached down, tugging a dagger from his boot which he then held to her face.

Emma started and lurched forward, trying to grab the captain’s arm. He turned and gave her an angry snarl which caused her to pause in fear that he might hurt his prisoner.

“I returned an hour later to the place where we had arranged to meet. I took a back route, over the roofs of some buildings where I could not be followed. I saw him, waiting for me…”

Her voice trailed off. Killian pressed the dagger closer to her face.

“It was quick. The man who attacked him was there before I even saw him approaching. They quarreled. Your brother drew his sword… But it was too late.”

“You saw him murdered,” Killian whispered, his shoulders sagging.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I wanted to help, I did. But I had no weapon, no ally to turn to- so I ran.”

“You left my brother to die.”

“I had no choice,” she replied, her voice shaking.

“Then tell me, love,” he began in a menacing tone,”What choice do  _I_  have? How can I forgive the woman who played a part in my beloved brother’s death?”

Emma gasped as the glinting blade scraped against the skin of her mother’s chin, his hook entangling in the closures of her fur vest, tugging her up until her toes were scraping against the floor.

“Let her go! Please!” the younger woman screamed, diving forward and digging her fingers into his neck.

“This is no concern of yours, lass!”

“She’s my mother!” Emma sobbed. In that moment all anger fading: she couldn’t lose her mother again, less than a day after being reunited.

Emma pressed tighter, but Killian was not deterred, twisting the blade a little higher, his body rigid.

“I know who did it,” Snow gasped, clawing at her neck, “I saw him.”

“Who?” Killian snarled.

“Blackbeard. It was Blackbeard,” she panted, tumbling to the ground when he quickly released her, the blade to the knife running a thin scratch along her jawline.

“You are sure?”

The fallen queen nodded as Emma released her grip and fell to her side, checking her mother for injuries. “I’d know that pirate anywhere.”

For a moment Killian seemed lost in thought, a strange expression crossed his face - one of fear or perhaps acceptance. He tucked the dagger back into his boot.

“Then, my lady, you can live, for now. But if I find you are lying-“

“I’m not,” she snapped.

Killian clenched his jaw as he looked at the two women. “Fine. Emma - do you wish to remain in the brig with your mother or are you coming?”

Emma glanced back at Snow, she was nodding, “Go, I’m fine. I need to rest.” She rubbed her finger along the bloody mark on her face. “We can talk later.”

Reluctantly Emma stood and relocked the door, feeling all the futility in this action considering they were at sea and there was nowhere for her mother to escape to.

 

“And Emma?” she called as the two began to walk away, “Remember I love you.”

_**A/N Your feedback makes me so happy and is so incredibly inspiring! Thank you, I hope you are enjoying the ride!** _


	14. Detente

_The Enchanted Forest, 18 years earlier_

The seven year old princess was already making quite the name for herself with her bold, unpretentious behavior and willful attitude.

But of course, a seven year old - even an intelligent, observant one (as she was) - is far too concerned with the matter of being a child to be aware of how they are perceived. To Emma, crown princess of the Enchanted Forest, life was a constant stream of tutors, tea parties and pretty dresses. She loved her mother and father, basking in their evident adoration but occasionally taking liberties with their often lenient ways. 

The first time she learned about what being a princess really meant was at the palace’s annual Christmas ball.

“Emma, you must apologize,” her mother hissed as the little princess ran past her, giggling with her nanny, Nina, chasing at her tails.

“What momma?” she asked, widening her eyes and stopping to join her hands behind her back.

Snow looked over at the small girl who was left in her wake: a good three inches shorter than Emma, she had bright, auburn hair and pinkish skin. Her mouth was turned down into a frown and her brow was wrinkled as she looked down at her shiny, red shoes.

“I saw you push Katrina! Go, say you are sorry.”

“Momma, she smells! And I had to sit next to her all through dinner.” The young princess turned to look at the other girl; now she was pushing the toes of her shoes against each other and her face was beginning to turn a similar shade of crimson.

“You must apologize this instant!”

“But she’s your maid’s girl, momma! I’m better than her!”

Emma gasped at her mother’s shocked expression and immediately regretted her words. She knew she had crossed a line, even if she wasn’t quite sure which one yet. Her mother sank quickly to her knees and grasped her arms in her hands so they were face to face. “I never, ever want to hear you speak like that again, do you understand?”

Tentatively, Emma nodded, a cool dread slipping over her as she took in her mother’s disappointed face.

“You are royalty and you are privileged. And with that privilege, comes responsibility.”

Emma looked back at Katrina, a sense of shame washing over her.

“You are no better than any other person. It is your duty to be a wise and noble queen one day. Go, apologize and I will see no more selfish behavior - do you understand?”

Nodding, with eyes brimming with tears, Emma accepted her mother’s brief kiss on the cheek before turning around, straightening her shoulders and walking over to the other little girl.

“Katrina?” she asked with a little hesitation. Katrina looked up, her big blue eyes wide and round. “I wanted to say I am sorry. For pushing you. It was wrong of me.” Emma spoke so quickly the words were almost a babble. She felt stupid and embarrassed, giving furtive glances to her left to see who was watching.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Katrina replied shyly, twisting her hands together, “I deserved it.”

And when Emma looked closely, she realized the little girl meant it. She thought she should be treated that way - because she was a servant and Emma was a princess. In an instant Emma got her first taste of understanding of what the power and responsibility of being a royal meant. And she felt her first taste of shame.

“No,” she said honestly, “No you didn’t.” Smiling she swung her arms from side to side, feeling a little awkward, having never apologized for such a thing before. “Come, let’s play,” she added, grabbing the girl’s hand and tugging her away.

* * *

As Emma had stopped to listen to her mother’s final words, the captain had rushed away - his footsteps clipped and hurried as they clattered against the boarded deck. By the time she had turned around, all that was left of him was the swoosh of his long leather coat as he alighted the ladder out of the hold.

Awash with emotion, she followed in a daze. The tartness of her mother’s seeming abandonment had been almost neutralized by the way she had held her in her arms and cradled her gently.

God, she had missed her.

It was almost as if, for a second, time had stopped and rewound itself. She was a little girl again, safe in her mother’s loving embrace. Nothing could ever hurt her when her mother was there. But then of course she hadn’t been, for so long.

She sighed as she reached the ladder, pausing as a panel of light shone down on her face from above. Perhaps she would never be able to understand what had drawn her mother to leave that day, ten years ago. She naturally assumed an explanation would be offered, when the time was right, but her ability to accept and forgive was still in question. 

But she  _was_ her mother and she loved her, more than she had ever realized. And now she was back, Emma would not be parted from her again.

She thought back to the moments when the captain had held a dagger to her mother’s neck - oh the fear it had ignited! She wondered if he would have actually hurt her. Part of the princess said no: the man she had come to know would not do such a thing, would he? But then she was reminded that all her perceptions of this man - this pirate - were so confused and jumbled, she could never really be sure of him.

A part of her thought she ought to return to her cabin, but hunger suddenly pierced her belly and she crept to the mess where she searched the pantry, selecting a small round of cheese and some slices of salted ham. She wrapped these in her handkerchief, thankful that no one was around to ask any awkward questions as she as still unsure what the captain had actually said about her absence.

Ambling back to her cabin, she crumbled small amounts of the cheese into her mouth, its creamy, almost nutty flavor delicious against her tongue. So engrossed was she in her meal that she started when she suddenly walked into something. With a gasp she looked up - directly into the black rimmed eyes of Captain Hook.

“Captain-“ she gasped, equally surprised by both his appearance and his unexpected close proximity. Startled, he started for a moment. She felt hot under his gaze, quickly darting her eyes downwards. “Sorry-“ she muttered, her lashes fluttering in embarrassment.

He rubbed a hand across his face, then raised his brows. “Yes?”

She suddenly realized that he thought she had been looking for him. She was about to say this was not the case, when a sudden urge to talk to him over came her. “May we talk?”

He sighed in a slightly annoyed manner, but then he reached out and pulled up the latch to his cabin, “Quickly,” he ordered and she hurried inside.

At first upon entering, she wasn't sure what to say. She wandered about the room, looking first out the small windows opposite the door and then running her finger along the bookshelf adjacent to his desk.

“And?” he asked impatiently. When she turned he was standing about six feet away, his thumb tucked into the buckle of his belt, his hooked arm hanging at his side. He was wearing the usual, nonchalant swagger that would accompany him whenever he was on deck.

“You owe me an apology.”

He arched an eyebrow and her heart beat faster; she wasn’t entirely certain in what direction she would be taking this line of enquiry.

“And why would that be?” he answered with a slightly bored expression.

She licked her dry lips, adjusting her weight on her feet and straightening her shoulders. “Many reasons,” she began, “First - you dragged me halfway across the ship, I shall be shocked if I don’t bear the bruises come morning.”

His lips twitched into a crooked smile and he gave her a small, mock bow, “My lady, I apologize if my rough nature offended your  _delicate, feminine_  sensibilities.”

Although he was mocking her, the swagger in his voice didn’t extend to his eyes. They were as blank and cold as when she had met him in the corridor. Shrugging off his response, she continued. “And, your treatment of my mother was excessive. Holding a knife to a woman’s throat - what sort of man are you?”

Her heart began to throb tightly as she waited for him to respond. He was either thinking or purposefully making her wait, slowly moving his hand into his jacket and pulling out his flask, tugging out the cork with his teeth and finally taking a slow drink.

Swallowing deeply, he dipped down his chin so their eyes met, “I’ve told you many times, love, I’m a pirate.” This time his voice lacked the derisive tone of a minute ago. In fact, it was almost apologetic – sad, even.

“So you’ve said,” she replied, moving over to his desk and perching on its surface and then crossing her arms, “But you lead me to believe there is more to Captain Jones than mere pirate.”

He glared at her over the flask as he took another sip, fastening the cork back in with his thumb as he walked to where she sat. “Well I apologize if you were misinformed.”

“So you are capable of apologizing then,” she quipped, tilting her head as he stopped arm’s length from her, jutting out his chin a little so he had to look down his nose to where she sat.

“You’re quite annoying at times, for a  _princess_ I mean.”

“I call it being persistent,” Emma smiled with raised brows, “And I didn’t know you were so familiar with princessly behavior.”

“I’ve gotten around, love,” he replied with a wink and she felt heat jolt straight to her stomach at the implication of his response. Visions of him dancing and flirting and - more - with scores of women quickly flashed through her mind. He was too damn close to be comfortable and her body inched back involuntarily further onto the desk. “But, as I’m feeling in rather good spirits in this moment, I will extend my apologies to you and your lovely mother. Though I dare say, you understand my motivation.”

And the strange thing was, she did. If it had been the other way around - her family gone and only a tiny clue to the culprit, she would have moved heaven and earth to find them. “I understand,” she admitted, “But it’s still not very gentlemanly.”

The word ‘gentlemanly’ made him start a little and she saw she had struck a nerve. For a moment, she saw that flicker again in his eyes - that flame of the man who she’d kissed all those nights ago and she felt her knees weaken and blood rush to her face.

His small nod of acceptance was enough, for now and she loosened her demeanor as he turned away, his gaze lingering on her for a second or two more than necessary before his head joined the rest of his body. Emma watched as he shucked off his coat and hung it on the small, iron hook behind his door. Next, he loosened his belt and tossed it over the small dresser opposite her. She was transfixed - her eyes following on the way his muscles moved beneath his clothes; the flex of his biceps as they pulled and released and the  delicious curve of his ass  that sent heat straight between her legs. Instantly she blushed and felt ashamed of her own mind.

Desperate to occupy herself, she scrambled for conversation, “Um- When - when will you be letting us go?” she asked, sliding back to the floor with a soft clunk.

“Us?” he asked, turning around as he unbuttoned his vest.

“My mother and I, you have what you want…”

“What I want, is Blackbeard’s head on a plate,” he lifted up his hand and gestured to the room, “Do you see that?”

“No….” she began, feeling the sudden change in his mood.

“You may go as you please, that was our agreement. But she must remain until I am satisfied - currently she is the only tangible connection I have to his death.”

“But what possible benefit is there of keeping her? She has told you what she knows!” Emma felt a flush of anger rise in her chest, her fists clenching at her sides.

“She is staying on board until I am avenged. I will not be swayed on this point.”

A steely impasse had descended between the two. His shoulders straightest and jaw firm, she saw that - at least for the moment - there could be no negotiation in this matter.

“Fine, then let me help you find him and we can be on our way.”

He seemed amused at her suggestion, “And how would you be of assistance, love? Didn’t know you possessed tracking skills?” A smile licked at his lips and his eyes sparkled a little, the first time she had seem them do that since - [a brief memory of their kiss flashed over her again and she had to shrug away the shiver which ran down her spine].

“No,” she hissed, “But firstly - he doesn’t know me. If you or one of your men are within fifty feet of him he’d smell it.” Killian nodded softly. “And secondly, being female, I possess certain talents which - well, let’s say could be useful when dealing with the male sex.”

His brow twitched when she said the word ‘sex’.

“So you would seduce him for me? I’d not considered that approach, but-“

“Perhaps,” she quickly replied, folding her arms again across her chest, enjoying the way his eyes ran across her body finally meeting her face again with a slack, jawed look.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, princess?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, pirate. And I prefer Emma, if you please. The word princess carries with it so many assumptions.”

“So I gather,” he replied in a low gravelly voice, which caught her breath in her throat. He let out a breath and then held out his hand. “Fine, it’s agreed. You assist me and you both may leave with my best wishes.”

Emma took his hand. It was warm and firm and large, her small fingers melted into his and she felt herself flushing a little at his touch - quickly drawing away her hand. “Good,” she nodded, trying to compose her face. “Where do we start?”

“Why Langston, of course.”

“Langston,” she gasped, the notorious pirate haven a name that cast fear into the hearts of most, “But that’s-“

“Where he ports his ship when not at sea. Predictable, I know.”

“Fine,” she added, shaking her head and mentally starting to prepare herself for what she might see. “When do we set sail?”

“We should arrive in two days - good winds depending.”

“Then it’s settled,” she smiled, a little unsure of what she had gotten herself into. The conversation had suddenly died, the two eying each other a little awkwardly while a feeling of claustrophobia rose up her neck and made it hard to breathe. “I must go,” she mumbled, “Rest.”

He nodded and stepped aside so she could reach the door. A step away she turned back, “I’m not afraid of you, Killian Jones. You know that, right?”

“You should be,” he replied with a smile.

“I thought most of the stories were made up?”

As if she wasn’t there, he began to tug up his shirt, revealing a strip of sun darkened skin across his stomach. Emma tried to look away, he hand clawing for the door behind her.

“Stories have a strange way of becoming reality, love, if you’re not careful.”

She didn’t really understand what he meant, but as she tried to think, he suddenly tugged the shirt over his head and her mind became blank. The burning heat returned and she had to escape, hurriedly flicking open the lock and tumbling into the corridor.

* * *

_14 years ago, somewhere at sea_

“Now, then. You have been boarded by my captain - the infamous John O’Grady. Those who swear allegiance to him will be spared - try and be a brave bastard, and it’s the plank for you.”

Killian couldn’t stop his knees shaking. He was standing next to Liam. He’d done as he was told, looked at the men who boarded in the eye but dropped his cutlass when a musket was directed at him - raising his arms in surrender. Frozen he’d listened to the crack of gunfire and the cry of the wounded as he was herded together with other men who had been captured. Every moment his eyes had strained for Liam, until with great relief, he watched him being led towards him by a long haired pirate wearing a filthy red coat.

Their happy moment had been short lived; the ship was quickly overtaken and the remaining men lined up along the deck.

There was the sound of clipped footsteps.

“Why, Oliver, what a fine introduction! You make me blush!” The pirates around them laughed.

Killian looked in the direction of the voice. There stood, he assumed, the captain. Perhaps old enough to be his father - dressed smartly in a long royal blue coat and tricorn hat. He didn’t look that scary, he conceded, the tales of pirate captains with hooked noses and pointed teeth seeming somewhat exaggerated in that moment.

“My first mate is correct - I am a reasonable man. Join my crew and share in our bounty. I know your navy only takes the best men. And for what? A few measly pieces of gold a trip? Join me - join us - and we will show you what true riches are.”

A roar of approval shot up around them. The men of Liam’s ship looked at each other - some a little uncertain, others eyes widening at the promises being made.

“So what say you,” the captain continued, “Who will be joining the Jolly Roger? Or shall we prepare the plank?”

Liam stepped forward. “I think I can speak for the men here - we see the value in your offer and we accept on the condition we are treated the same as any man on your crew.”

“And who may you be to speak for them?”

The captain advanced along the line until he was standing toe to toe with Liam, Killian tensed his body, his eyes fixed on the captain’s glossy boots.

“Liam Jones, formerly lieutenant of the king’s army. Happy to take any position you may offer.”

The pirate seemed amused, his lips twitching a little.

“Well, Liam Jones, I think that can be arranged. After a suitable period of training, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed, with a small bow.

“Ha!” cried the captain, “Strip the ship!” he ordered, walking away towards his first mate, his sword swinging in his wake.

Killian’s heart was racing. His brother placed a hand on his shoulder, “Relax, we are safe for the moment.”

“Are we pirates now, brother?” he asked, still a little unsure as to what and happened.

Liam’s brows raised, as if this had not occurred to him until that moment. “Aye lad, I’d say we were.”

_**A/N - Thank you, again, for all your support! It is so inspiring to me and I love reading all your wonderful reviews! J x** _


	15. Masquerade - Part 1

_A/N - This is another two part chapter! It was getting long (for me) so I'm posting this now but I hope to have the rest up asap..._

"Are you okay?"

Emma wanted to laugh, but instead shot her mother a despairing look. "Am I okay? I do believe that you are the one currently living in a brig!"

Snow slipped a spoonful of watery oatmeal into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a minute, "I've been in much worse scrapes than this one."

Shaking her head, the younger woman shifted so she was sitting cross-legged, facing her mother, head titled to one side and resting on her hand. "What happened to the mild mannered queen who used to tell me to stand up straight and wash behind my ears?"

"She's still here," Snow replied, "But you know, before I married your father, I was quite the rebel myself."

"Really?" Emma asked, a little incredulously.

"Really." She placed the bowl to one side and shuffled closer to her daughter, so their knees almost touched, "I can't count the number of times I had to lie or talk my way out of some stupid situation. My father got so sick of me sneaking out of my a at night that he assigned me my own guard unit."

"He did?" Emma laughed.

"Yes," she smiled, "Didn't work. A few times they actually came to the tavern with me. I drank them under the table."

"Mother!"

The thought of her mild-mannered mother - the one who still lived in her memory from all those years ago - knocking back liquor in a seedy tavern made her head spin. A brief pain in her chest told her how much she wished she had known this Snow: how similar she appeared to be to herself. "So what happened?"

Snow dipped her head and took a sip of the grog Emma had brought down to the brig, wincing a little at the hint of rum it contained. "Yes, I guess I've lost my taste for liquor." She looked up and met her daughter's eyes, "The truth is I met your father."

"And?" Emma asked.

"And my priorities changed." The queen began to run her fingers along the soft leather of her britches, "I wanted a family and, more than that, I wanted to be a good ruler. And running around the forest at night didn't really fit with that dream."

"Do you regret giving that up? Your freedom, I mean?"

The older woman sighed, "Whatever small sacrifice I made was replaced a hundred times over by the love I gained from you and your father…" At the mention King James, a small, sad smile crossed her mother's face. "A love that has sustained me throughout many hardships these past years."

The two became quiet. They had still to address the reasons behind her mother's abandonment.

"I-"

"No. Not yet. I'm not ready," Emma whispered, letting her eyes follow the flickering lantern light that lit the walls, "Let me get used to having you back first."

"Of course." She twisted around and stretched out her legs, propping up her body with her hands and sighing as she flexed her back. "I wonder how long that pirate will keep me here."

"About that… I have entered into a deal with the captain. I assist him in finding this Blackbeard and he releases us both."

Snow's eyes immediately darkened, "No. I forbid it. Emma, Blackbeard is a very dangerous man."

"It's decided, Mother, my mind will not be altered. It's the only way to secure your timely release." She reached forward and clutched her mother's hand tightly.

"Emma," Snow whispered, "That man - he's… ruthless. You don't understand. If he finds out you are aiding a plot against him-"

Emma leaned a little closer and pressed a damp kiss on the older woman's cheek. "You must trust me. I'm not the little girl you used to know."

Her mother's eyes glassed over as she reached out and stroked a finger along Emma's cheek. A whimsical, regretful smile graced her lips, "No, I don't suppose you are."

* * *

A wet rag thrown onto her face jolted her awake. After a few moments of utter confusion, the room came into focus and the face of Smee loomed over her.

"Gerrup!," he cried in a hoarse whisper, "Captain Jones requires you."

Grumbling, she pushed on her boots and stumbled out of her cabin, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with tired fingers. Smee grunted towards the ladder to the deck before turning away, talking to himself.

Forcing back a yawn, she dragged her weary body onto the deck, shivering against the chill in the air as she gazed up at the starlit sky.

"You're up."

At the sound of the captain's husky voice, she span around. He was standing at the helm, a half smile on his face that was lit gently by the light of the full moon.

"You called," she shot back, advancing towards him with heavy strides.

He licked his lips and then stepped back from behind the ship's wheel. At the sight of his previously concealed body, she stopped and cocked her head.

Revealing itself was not the leather clad form to which she had become accustomed. Instead, his usual black had been replaced with more muted tones - brown doe skin pants were tucked into his knee high boots, a white linen shirt with ruffles about the collar was held in place by a dark grey vest fastened with small, brass buttons. The new outfit was topped with a tailored wool coat in a deep navy shade [as far as she could tell in the dim light] with epaulettes at his shoulders and large, patched pockets at his hips. The overall effect was so far removed from his pirate persona, that she found herself lost for words.

"Problem lass?" he asked, another smile lurking at the edges of his lips. He seemed pleased that he'd raised a reaction from her and she inwardly chastised herself for giving him that small pleasure.

"No. Just somewhat bemused," she replied, looking him up and down, attempting to set her face with somewhat aloof expression.

The captain chuckled, flashing her a look that said  _I know that's not the truth,_ but thankfully not continuing the line of questioning any further, instead he began to walk down the small flight of steps onto the main deck where she stood. "Alas, as dashing as my usual attire may be, it is also a certainty of announcing my presence." As he spoke he lifted up his left arm - in place of the usual hook was a gloved hand, "As is this."

"So we are to be using subterfuge to achieve our goal?"

He nodded and stepped closer, "Aye."

"And I? I presume I will need to change apparel?" She gestured to the loose linen shirt and cotton pants.

"And you -" His eyes dropped to her body, lingering a little longer on her form that she would have expected, making her feel exposed and a little feverish under his gaze, "Well, we will fix your appearance once on dry land. Behold," he announced, turning and gesturing to their left, "Little Haven."

She looked at the small, quiet looking village that was perched on the coast, a band of thick forest ringing its boundary. "This isn't Langston."

"Observant," he quipped, as she felt his body slide closer behind hers, heat radiating from him and pushing away the lingering chill, replacing it with a searing heat even though he still stood a good twelve inches behind her. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned her head. He was looking over the bow, his sharp cut profile in stark contrast with the endless black of the diamond-scattered sky.

A thought appeared in her mind, seemingly out of the blue. How handsome he was, one of the most fine-looking men of her acquaintance. His strong brow and even features were almost regal in their composition: how had she not noticed before? Blushing a little, she turned her head, waiting for him to continue his explanation.

"This ship is as well-known as any. If I bring the Jolly up to the port, or even within telescope sight, the word will be about town within hours. Not conducive to our stratagem."

"So," he whispered, his heavy breathing prickling the skin of her neck, a shiver running down her spine as he leaned closer - his mouth parallel with her ear - as he pointed to land. "We row ashore and secure passage over land. It's a mere 40 miles or so."

"And then?" she asked quietly, frozen in place, so acutely aware of his body that she felt unable to move a single muscle.

"And then we track him down, should not be difficult."

"Are you sure he is in port?"

He walked past her and spread his hands on the gunwale, pausing a moment before turning around. "We sailed past Langston three hours ago. The Crooked Locker is indeed in port. That bastard will be mine, come hail or storm."

"Ours," she added. "He will be ours."

"Ours," he replied with a smile.

* * *

Smee and his assistant, Randal, had aided in their transfer across the bay. Instructions were given to take the Jolly out to sea and return to dock in Langston in four days' time. Killian calculated that that should provide sufficient opportunity to satisfy his needs.

Disembarking the tender, they trudged through the knee high salty water to the small beach at the village's edge. After giving a few last instructions, the small boat returned to the ship, the two watching as it disappeared into the darkness.

"So what now?"

He turned and looked at the girl. She'd pulled off her usual hat, her fingers scratching through her hair, making it disheveled in an oddly appealing way. Shadows lingered beneath her eyes, but within them he saw a steely determination that was second only to his own.

"Now we secure passage to Langston."

"At this hour? It must be yet two hours after midnight!"

"Anything can be secured at this hour - for a price," he replied, lifting up a heavy bag of coins from his coat pocket and giving her a wicked smile.

* * *

It was true anything could be acquired in the early hours of the morning, but as it transpired, the quality of those good would always be questionable.

After some quiet enquiries at the one, still open, tavern - a deal was finally struck with a snaggletoothed old farmer. For a fee of five gold pieces, he would ferry the two to the outskirts of Langston in his hay cart. Killian, at first, had balked at the price. That was until Emma had pulled him aside and urged caution: it was surely better to keep a low profile, and making a scene would be sure to attract attention, even in this sleepy port.

Within 30 minutes they were seated in the back of the hay cart, being dragged along the rough-hewn road at a sluggish pace.

"We could walk quicker," Killian growled as he pulled off his leather knapsack and tossed it to the floor of the vehicle.

"Forty miles?" Emma queried, suppressing a laugh when he raised his brows in agreement.

"Still," he growled as the cart clipped a rock and rolled to one side, jolting both occupants against the hard wood and making Emma wince, "I much prefer to travel by sea."

Eventually, the steady rocking rhythm lulled her into a slumber. Despite the hard board on which she lay and the prickles of the hay that lined the floor, she slipped into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe her body knew that sleep may be in scarce supply in the coming days. Either way, soon she was deep within a dream.

_Her hair was long again, hanging heavily down her back. She was walking in the forest, leading Honey beside her. The sunlight was filtering through the canopy of branches_ _overhead_ _, casting muted shadows against the grasses and flowers carpeted the ground. Her light cotton dress twirled about her bare legs as she_ _laid_ _her head against the mare's silky mane._

_"Emma!"_

_She turned to see who had called her name, smiling instantly at the tall figure advancing towards her. Quickly, his arms were around her, his mouth pressed against her own. She dropped the_ _reins_ _, drawing up on her toes into his embrace; his hand tangling into her hair and pressing her body tighter to his._

_"I've missed you," he whispered into her ear, drawing a finger along her jaw - making her shiver and arch into him further, "I beg you, never leave me again."_

_A few hot kisses lingered on her neck. He stilled, pressing his forehead against hers. Filled with the scent of him and the_ _fervor_ _of his kisses, she clung to his neck, for the forest had begun to spin._

_Gradually, she made herself look up into his eyes. Those hypnotizing eyes_ _, which_ _made her lose her breath - her mind…_

_Her bottom lip trembled at his closeness. Locked in his gaze, she melted. The love that radiated from him_ _,_ _thawing any lingering chill in her heart._

_"Killian," she whispered, drawing him into a lingering kiss-_

She was jolted awake when she was tossed to the floor, her chin hitting the wooden cart boards with a heavy thud. The taste of blood instantly filled her mouth, metallic and thick.  _Damn,_ she thought, bringing her hand to her lips and wiping away a thin red, watery trail.

"Fuck," she heard her companion mutter. He had leapt over the side of the cart and began to exchange whispered words with their driver. Clambering to her feet, she realized the cart had lurched to the left. She hung her body over the side and saw that the forward wheel had broken free of its axle.

It wasn't until he looked up at her, his face twisted in a grimace, that she remembered her dream. Blood instantly rushed to her face and she thanked the gods that it was still dark and dawn had not yet risen. She didn't speak, just listened to his hushed tones as he gestured wildly to the farmer.

Her heart was pounding and she pressed her hand against her stomach: what was happening to her? Was she sick? Had some ailment overtaken her body - her mind? It made no sense the way her thoughts and feelings had become so twisted and confused of late. So much had happened in less than a year.

Part of her longed for the simplicity of her old life, where her biggest decisions usually revolved around which gown to wear to a ball and the most excitement she felt involved intrigue and gossip among the courtiers.

"It's shot, no chance of fixing it until tomorrow," the pirate called out, sounding clearly exasperated.

"How much further?" she asked.

The farmer grumbled an answer to Killian, who rolled his eyes before relaying the information. "Fifteen miles or so."

"Well then let's walk," she replied with a stifled yawn, begging to forget her fuzzy dream and returning to a practical state of mind.

"Fine," he grumbled, digging his bag from the cart and laying a few coins in the farmer's hand.

Emma jumped down onto the dirt road, her weary body protesting - crying out for respite from its tiredness. The captain began to advance at a steady pace, his coat swinging behind him as he marched ahead.

She tried to keep pace, but her eyes were slipping closed and her legs felt so heavy that every step was difficult. It was impossible to stop herself from stumbling - she lurched forward before slipping to her left, catching the trunk of a small tree before she landed in the dirt.

When she looked up, she saw the captain had turned around and was staring at her, brows raised. "You need to rest," he sighed, clearly irritated by her exhaustion.

"No," Emma mumbled, "I can go on-"

The world was spinning again. She could barely keep her eyelids open, they felt so heavy - leaden almost - she was battling an insurmountable foe. Her fingers clung to the bark of the tree, the rough surface leaving deep impressions in her skin.

"No, you can't." He sighed deeper, reaching to scratch behind his ear as his face fell into a frown. "We will rest for an hour or two. I have no desire to carry you for ten miles."

Emma didn't reply at first. She watched him trek into the woodland, standing still - almost spinning from the dizziness the lack of sleep brought forth - until he returned and beckoned her forth. Blindly she followed, sucking in deep breaths until they reached a small clearing bordered by several moss covered logs.

"Sleep, get some rest. You'll need it," the captain ordered, pointing at a mossy patch bathed in the burgeoning morning light.

Wordlessly, she sank to the floor, too exhausted to argue further. The grass was soft, cushioned by the spongy forest soil. Her knees folded instantly on contact and she sighed at the relief after the uncomfortable wooden cart.

"Hmmm," she mumbled, unbuttoning the first few fastenings of her shirt and pulling her fingers through her hair.

She dropped her head to the downy floor. When her flesh made contact with the damp grass, she shivered violently - the cold slicing through her like a knife, making her wince in pain. She bit back the chill, wrapping her hands around herself and pulling her bottom lip into her mouth.

"You're cold."

Opening an eye, she saw her companion sitting in front of one of the logs opposite her, his legs crossed at the ankle.

"No," she lied, clenching her jaw to stave away a shiver.

"Stop trying to be so brave lass," he muttered, "You're of no use to me if you freeze to death."

Emma watched as he stood and walked across the clearing, sinking down to sit next to her. "Here," he commanded, shrugging off his coat and handing it to her.

"Wha-what?" she cried, startled by his sudden closeness and drowning slightly in the confusion that her tiredness had brought with it.

"It will keep you warm."

Tentatively, she took the heavy, wool garment. It was surprisingly soft. She wrapped it around her body, slipping her arms through the sleeves and fastening the buttons about her waist. "Thank you," she whispered, the comforting blanket of warmth already providing much needed comfort.

He laid back against the log behind them, locking his hands behind his neck, "My pleasure," he replied. She wasn't entirely sure if he was joking or being serious.

Shrugging off her concerns, she curled her body into a ball, wrapped in the soft layer of wool that smelled of him, quickly drifting off and back into her dream.

**PS. All your reviews, support and feedback are immensely appreciated. Thank you all so very much. J x**


	16. Masquerade - Part 2

It was the dawn chorus that had roused him. He groaned a little at first - annoyed that he had allowed himself to sleep for so long, potentially losing a few hours in their search. Shifting against the log, his back was stiff and his body slightly cold, so he rubbed his hands over the cotton sleeves of his shirt to create a warming friction.

There was a rustling beside him. He turned his neck to see the lass awakening, stretching out her limbs and rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes.  “ Good morning, ”  he said, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Her eyes still closed, she smiled. The first morning light was beginning to rise over the horizon behind them, soft lazy beams just penetrating the trees, casting the scene in a pale golden glow. The tiredness seemed to have left her face. He watched as she arched her back and shook away the last remnants of sleep. His coat was still around her, far  too  large and making her  appear  almost childlike.

As she moved to sit, he was suddenly aware of how accustomed he had  become  to her company: her wit, her smile …  How strange, he thought.

“ I slept too long, ”  she grumbled, unbuttoning the coat and slipping it off.

“ We both did, ”  he replied, taking it from her and standing as he redressed. Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her up from the ground then they both set about brushing away the downy remains of the forest floor from their clothing. Killian slipped on his knapsack, the collar of his coat brushing against his face as it did. He paused; her scent had been imprinted on the wool. Light and sweet, he took a deep breath, letting it linger in his nostrils until he breathed out.

“ Well let ’ s make haste, ”  she said, interrupting his reverie, walking ahead towards the line of trees,  “ The day is but young. ”

“ Yes, if we make good time we can be in the city within two hours. ”

The lass turned back and smiled, pulling on her hat as she did,  “ Then come on, pirate. ”

There was an almost devilish twinkle in her eye that brought a smile to his lips.  “ Of course, milady, ”  he laughed, tossing out a hand in a flourish as he spoke, following behind her with a simple lightness in his step.

§§§

* * *

“ Is this it? ”  she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Killian swung a glance her way, curving his lips a little,  “ What were you expecting? ”

“ I don ’ t know …  Maybe some pirates, or more dirt, or …  something …”

He shook his head, “ Langston is a city as any other is, lass. Pirates and scoundrels we may be, but we do not desire to live in filth. ”  He watched with a little pleasure as her cheeks reddened.

“ I didn ’ t mean- “  she began.

“ Relax, ”  he whispered, bringing his step closer to hers as they walked along a quiet street lined with small cottages,  “ A city cannot survive on piracy alone, love. Look around - see the tended gardens and brightly painted sills - this place is home to many types of folk. ”

He watched her eyes dart around, her expression softening as the seconds ticked by, their strides falling into sync, the town awakening around them as the sun rose higher.  “ I never thought of it that way, ”  she admitted.

“ Oh, but don ’ t be fooled. Down by the port the situation is a little more - complex. I should advise you to avoid that part of town when alone. ”

“ Oh? ”  she scoffed, tossing him a glance,  “ Are you worried for my safety,  Captain? ”

Killian cleared his throat and trained his eyes on the road ahead. Was he? Was he concerned for her?  “ No lass, just wouldn ’ t want to disrupt our deal. ”

“ Fine, ”  she replied breezily.  “ So what is our next step? ”

They had reached a  crossroads . To their left the road headed down towards the docks, the bright blue sea shimmering in the distance, and to the right it trailed into path that wound its way further up the hill. Killian stopped and reached into his knapsack.  “ I have some enquiries to make. ”

“ And I? ”

He pulled out a small purse of coins and tossed them to her,  “ Go get yourself some clothes. I need you looking like a woman if things are to proceed as planned. Down this road  there  are numerous tailors and haberdasheries. ”

“ You don ’ t think a pirate would be seduced by my breeches and overshirt? ”  she laughed, shifting the purse between her hands.

“ No doubt some would, love, ”  he smirked, taking hold of her hand and tugging her a little closer,  “ But I promise, this pirate is a red blooded man - with all the urges that that entails. ”

Emma looked up at him, her tongue paused against her lips, a sudden serious expression on her face,  “ I would expect no less, ”  she replied before tugging away her hand and tucking the purse in her pocket. 

“ Meet me at the Golden  Hind , it ’ s a small tavern, a far enough distance from the docks to be discrete. Be there by sundown. ”

She gave him a curt nod.

“ And lass? ”  he added.

“ Yes? ”

“ Remember our deal, I ’ m expecting you to play your role well. ”

“ You have my word, ”  she smiled, before hurrying off.

§§§

* * *

She  was late. His eyes  darted  to the grandfather clock that  stood  at one end of the tavern: it was minutes away from striking eight. He huffed and clutched his beer closer, feeling all the foolishness of a man who believed he had been betrayed. Stupidly, he had believed her love for her mother had bought him something resembling loyalty.

He called over the barmaid and ordered a bottle of spiced rum. It came quickly. Not caring to even pour it into a glass, he tugged off the cork with his teeth and poured a healthy mouthful down his throat.

“ Slow down there,  Captain , the night is still young. ”

He frowned at the sound of the soft voice, pausing with the bottle mid-air, slowly lowering it until his eyes met a familiar green pair.

“ Good evening. ”

The bottle hit the table with a gentle clunk. The sour taste of the alcohol rolled slowly over his tongue as he raised his chin.

Across from him a figure sat. It took a few seconds to  recognize  and map the features of the face. The arch of the cheeks … the bottle green eyes set between unexpected, ebony lashes. How had he never noticed the depth of  color  they held? Below he watched her tongue dart out between pink lips, moistening her mouth and giving him a toying grin.

“ Emma? ”

She replied with a small nod, her hand moving up to play with a tendril of hair that had escaped from its pin at her cheek. Her blonde locks had been twisted and swept into a girlish  updo  - her cropped style undetectable - finished with a thick band of red ribbon that almost matched the sheer rouge she had painted her lips with.

His eyes lingered on her lips - their dusky curves so feminine and seductive - how could they belong to the same mouth he had seen a hundred times?

“ Did I do well? ”  she asked, grabbing the rum and standing so he could see her new attire, gesturing with her free hand as she sank back a large sip.

Running his hand over his tired eyes, he blinked a few times, not quite able to process what he saw. Her cotton shirt and been replaced by a thin, linen chemise which was covered by a deep red corset that laced up the front - from which sprung a heavy, gathered skirt of layered wool and cotton in a darker crimson.

“ You look …”  he began stumbling for the right word,  “ Different. ”

A peal of laughter escaped her lips and she took another drink, sinking to the bench opposite him.  “ Well I thank the heavens this isn ’ t the only gown I chose, ”  she began, leaning over the table and slamming the bottle down again,  “ Different is not going to attract the attention of a pirate. ”

“ I beg to differ, ”  his lips replied, before he could stop himself. 

Her hand paused over the neck of the bottle and she tilted her head to one side. A wide smile crossed her face. Feeling out of sorts, he snatched back the rum bottle - this time pouring two small glasses and nudging one across the table into her hand. 

“ Really? ”  she laughed, biting her lip.

Picking it up, she paused the drink at her lips. With a raised  brow , she watched him and he felt his heart race. Her normally bound chest was clearly showcased by the square cut neckline of her dress - the corset pushing her breasts into a pleasurable curve that rose and fell gently with her soft breathing.

“ Don ’ t get too excited, love, it ’ s the rum talking, ”  he replied.  _Liar,_ his subconscious retorted; he sucked in a breath, almost choking on his rum.  “ Sometimes my mouth runs away with itself. ”

“ Hmm, ”  she mumbled while she poured them both another drink.  “ Now where is our man? ”

Killian shifted on the bench. He was finding it difficult to concentrate. Clearly, the rum, he told himself, suddenly feeling a little warm. She started to twirl another strand of hair around her finger at the nape of her neck, the golden  color  twinkling in the candlelight.

“ Captain? ”

“ Oh, um- “  he forgot, for a moment, her question.  “ Yes …  This evening I am led to understand he will  be  occupied in some business that will take him out of port. ”

“ That is unfortunate. But tomorrow? ”

“ Tomorrow we begin our work. ”  He picked up the bottle of rum and took a long sip.  “ But for now, there is nothing to do but wait. ”

“ And drink rum, ”  she added, gesturing to the bottle.

“ Aye ,  and that, ”  he agreed, pouring her another glass, tipping the neck of the bottle against it before he took another drink.

They sat in relative silence for a few minutes. The tavern was quiet. Its position at the fringes of the port afforded it a more sedate clientele than some. Still, a pleasant hum of chatter filled the air, brushing away any awkwardness that may have hung between them. Emma sipped her rum as she looked around the room, Killian rubbing the back of his hand against his brow and trying to account for his sudden bout  of  light headedness.

“ It feels so strange …”  she whispered, as if she were talking to herself.

“ What? ” 

“ Dressing as a woman again, ”  she replied, turning back to face him.  “ I ’ d forgotten the feeling of a corset around the waist and skirts about your ankles. ”

“ And have you missed it? I ’ ve always thought a woman ’ s clothing rather restrictive, if appealing to the eye. ”

Emma leaned a little further over the table, inadvertently pushing her breasts higher in the corset, Killian ’ s jaw loosened at the sight. Quickly he tried to divert his attention elsewhere - mentally chastising himself . It  was not as if he hadn ’ t seen such sights before, many times over.

“ A little. It ’ s like, dressed as a boy, I was almost invisible. But walking through the streets this evening, I felt the burn of  men’s  eyes on my back, I felt taller almost - it was empowering in a way. ”

“ The power of a beautiful woman is not to be underestimated. ”

“ You think I ’ m beautiful? ”  she asked quickly, raising her chin playfully to look him in the eye.

“ That ’ s not- “  he began, before sighing and nodding a little,  “ If you weren ’ t ,  our little plan would be rather futile. ”

“ That ’ s not a proper answer. ”

“ Then ask a different question, ”  he countered.

She laughed and they both took another sip of the rum. It was beginning to make Killian a little drowsy. He was glad, after all, that their pursuit had been delayed by a night.

“ Do you think it will work? Will I be able to find a way to get his attention? ”

 

“ Well that ’ s really down to you lass. How do you intend to  ‘ _get his attention_ ’ ?"

Emma looked surprised, her eyes darting down over her dress and a frown crossing her brow.  “ Oh,  um…I ’ ll cast a glance or two in his direction, perhaps draw my corset a little lower …”  her voice trailed off, a confused expression on her face that made Killian grin.

“ Have you ever seduced a man before? ”

Her lashes fluttered and she clutched her glass more tightly,  “ Of course. I mean, I may be a princess but- “

H e laughed softly, taking a little too much pleasure in her obvious embarrassment, “Then show me.”

She refilled her glass, downing a large gulp before pulling her chemise a little lower on her shoulders. Licking her lips, she tilted her head coyly and batted her lashes. “Hello captain,” she purred  on in  a husky voice, leaning closer so her cleavage was on full display. “What do you think?” she asked.

Killian took a deep breath. He couldn’t deny she had her charms, he’d admitted as much to himself earlier. “Not …bad.”

“Not bad!” she cried, her face crumpling a little.

“Yes, well… There’s a little more to seduction than you may think,” she raised her eyebrows, “Let me show you what I mean,” he added, an idea forming as he stood and walked away.

§§§

* * *

Her cheeks burned as he left the table - where the hell was he going? Quickly she finished her drink, slamming  it  down as the room began to sway. What had she gotten herself into? Perhaps her mother was right, maybe she  was  wrong to think she could do this-

“Fancy a drink, love?”

Cocking her head, she saw the Captain at her side, a bottle of something dangling from his fingers and a dangerous darkness about his eyes.

“What-“ she began, then he smiled as if to say ‘play along’ so she nodded and moved along the bench, “Why of course, Captain-?”

“Hook,” he finished, pulling two pewter goblets from his coat and pouring the liquid, which she now saw was wine, into each.

“And to what do we drink, Captain?” she whispered, watching him move closer until their bodies were a hands width apart.

“Why, to a pretty face.”

Suppressing a small laugh, she tipped her glass to his, feeling a little bit like a girl play acting. Killian lowered his glass and spoke again, his voice low and soft, “The keys to seduction, love, are flattery and attention, give both to your target and resistance is very difficult.”

She drank again. The wine was fruity and full bodied on her tongue, expensive, she mused as she leaned into him. “So you are quite the expert then, in seduction?”

“Somewhat,” he replied, reaching across to run his fingers over the sheer material of her chemise, “Such pretty fabric love, though not a touch on your beauty.”

It was so cliché, but she couldn’t help but feel her stomach jump a little as his hand brushed against her skin. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“All I see now is you, love.”

He was looking at her intensely - his blue eyes so large and hypnotic she struggled to look away. She felt the room melt - it was as if she and him were the only two in the tavern.

“Make them feel special,” he drawled, bringing his face closer to her ear, “No one else matters -"

Emma hitched her breath, lashes fluttering. “Then?”

“When you have their attention, then you swoop into the next phase.”

“Which is?” she whispered, her eyes widening and meeting his again.

“Physical contact. Perhaps, brush against their hair.” He lifted his hand and tucked a blonde strand behind her ear, causing heat to erupt over her chest, no doubt turning the skin a pinkish shade (thank  God  it was dark). “Or maybe, lay your hand on theirs,” he placed his palm on top of Emma’s that rested on the table, running his fingers over her hers, tracing each knuckle and gently interlacing them.

“Mmmm,” she sniffed, all words escaping her, his fingers almost tender in their attentions.

“Closeness is the key,” he went on, moving until their thighs met and his face was so close to hers she could see the flecked blue of his eyes, even in the dark light. “The world must disappear for them.”

He shifted his away from hers,  it  remaining frozen where he had left it on the table. Pouring each a new glass, he looked at her again, turning on some hidden flow of charm and charisma which was impossible for her to describe, but devastating all the same. It was almost as if he possessed some kind of magic that she didn’t understand - how he could somehow draw her in with a few words or a look.

“Eye contact,” he went on, “90% of foreplay is through the eyes-“

She dipped her eyes at the mention of sex, feeling herself drowning in her own inexperience. But he grasped her chin and pulled her back to him. They stared at each other, breathing in sync, her skin starting to buzz until she felt overwhelmed by everything and pressed her eyes closed.

“Maybe this was a mistake, maybe I can’t-“

He pressed his fingers tighter on her chin and she opened her eyes. “You can,” he murmured, lips again at her ear, “Believe in yourself ,  love.”

Everything had  become  so intense. From her playful arrival not an hour ago, here she was almost shaking at a pirate’s words and doubting her own talents.

“And if I fail?”

Killian let  out  a deep  breath, dipped his head, and reached out his forefinger,  tracing it along the line of her shoulder as he seemed lost in thought, “You won’t.”

Emma thought she would burst. Something inside her was expanding and making her feel sick and dizzy and hot-

“Killian?”

The two leapt apart at the sound of his name. Her heart was beating rapidly and she smoothed down her skirts, averting her eyes form his as the owner of the voice approached.

“Veronica?” the Captain smiled, rising to stand. Emma glanced to her left to see him embracing a tall, attractive looking woman with tumbling black waves. “It’s been years.”

“At least five,” she agreed, stepping back and nodding towards Emma, “And who is this?”

The two looked at each other, Emma’s eyes were wide and Killian seemed a little flustered, his mouth opening and brow wrinkling. 

“His cousin,” Emma answered, standing and holding out her hand. The other woman took it and made a small courtesy, “Emma.”

“Veronica,” she replied, “Always happy to meet a  _relative_ of our dashing scoundrel.” She turned to Killian and Emma sat back down, feeling relief flood her veins. “How about I join you - I have much news to share!”

He looked back at Emma, a questioning look on his face. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded and he gestured to the other woman to sit.

A drink was poured and Killian spun a tale of a sick relative and  traveling  together while he took a furlough from the Jolly. Veronica nodded in all the right places, though Emma was sure she knew it was a lie. Curiosity got the better of her and when their conversation paused briefly, she asked; “And you - how do you know my  _dear cousin_?”

Killian raised his brow at her, but she ignored him focusing on the other woman. “Oh, we go back a long time, a very long time-“

A spark of indignation ignited in Emma’s chest as she heard all the meaning layered in her words. Clearly they knew each other intimately. Hell - why did that irk her so? It didn’t help that she felt Veronica’s foot rise under the table, nudging hers before it found its target - no doubt running along the pirate’s thigh. She heard him gasp a little and scrunched her face in annoyance.

“How wonderful,” Emma replied through gritted teeth, as she measured out more wine and fell silent as the two continued their conversation.

§§§

* * *

She was drunk. Dead drunk. Her eyes were heavy, her legs uncooperative and Killian had his arm around her waist as they tumbled up a narrow flight of wooden stairs

“Where are we going?” she murmured. 

“To bed,” he replied, holding her a bit tighter when she stumbled against the spindles that edged the stairs.

“I am not sharing a room with you, you cad,” she slurred, digging a finger in his chest with each word. 

Reaching the landing, he let her lean against a wall as he dug two heavy black keys from his coat. “Fear not madam, your virtue will remain intact.”

He was making fun of her. Her blood boiled.

“Huh. Figures, I guess you want that  _Ver-on-i-ca_ all to yourself.”

She leaned forward and tried to snatch the keys from his hand, instead falling straight into his chest where he caught her and held her tight.

“You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not,” she  hiccupped .

“And perhaps a little jealous,” he added.

“Please,” she scoffed, grabbing the collar of his vest to hold herself steady, “I am a  _princess!”_

_“_ Aye, a jealous one,” he teased, walking her back towards a small doorway.

“And why would I be jealous?” she asked, trying to squint and bring him into focus (and failing miserably).

He smiled and she wanted to hit him. “Good question,” he replied, “I thought you hated me.”

“I do!” she cried, her head thumping against the wall as he let her go and placed one of the keys in the door lock.

“If you say so,” he smiled, pushing open the door.

She rolled her body along the wall, stopping with her back to the door jam, tugging the key from his hand and rising up on her toes so their eyes were level.

“You’re mocking me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m drunk,” she conceded with a sigh.

“I know,” he whispered.

They stood for a second. The world stopped spinning. Things became a little less blurry. The sound of the tavern downstairs seemed a million miles away.

“Emma?”

“Mmm?”

“In case I forget to tell you later, thank you.”

She couldn’t form a reply, her mind  too  fuzzy, instead she nodded and he smiled.

“Good night,” he said, hesitating, his body wavering towards hers. For a second she held her breath, convinced he was going to kiss her - trying to decide whether she would slap him away or wrap her arms around him and kiss him back.

But he didn’t. Instead he gave her a small smile and picked up her left hand, placing a soft kiss on her wrist and finishing with a small nod before he turned and walked down the corridor.

§§§

* * *

She was burning where his lips had touched her as she closed the door. Staggering towards the bed, she pulled the lace of her corset loose and crawled under the covers. Her head was spinning.

From the alcohol.

Yes, the alcohol, she told herself.

§§§

* * *

He slammed his door. Tugging off his boots and tossing his coat to a small chair in one corner of the room.

His heart was racing. His lips tingled where he had kissed her.

God s , he’d had to stop himself kissing her on the lips. He’d been so damn close…

He walked over to the dresser and poured water into the porcelain wash basin. Digging in his hands, he splashed the cool liquid onto his face and then stared at himself in the faded mirror.

_Compose yourself, Killian,_ he told himself,  _Remember why you are here._

Snuffing out the lamp by the window, he climbed into the small bed, pressing his eyes shut and trying not to think about the lass who slept  across the hall .

 

_**A/N - Just a heads up, I'll be going into more definite M territory soon!** _

_**Thanks, again - as always!- for all your support and reviews! You all inspire me to write this story. J x** _


	17. Dutch Courage

During the walk back from the tailor the next morning, Emma was accompanied by the distinct feeling of nausea, lingering at the back of her throat. Every time she took a step, the impact rippled through her body and reverberated inside her skull, as if her brain was loose and being jostled by the movement.

Too much rum. Too much tiredness. Too much-

She pressed back the thought as another wave of sickness rose. Clutching the paper-wrapped parcel of garments, she ran to the side of the narrow street and pressed a palm against the wall of a small bakery, retching into the gutter until her stomach muscles hurt.

Slowly, she rolled onto her back and took a few heavy breaths, wiping her damp mouth with the back of her hand. Weary, she sank to sit, dropping the parcel by her side and using her hand to shade her eyes from the midday sun. The night before had not transpired as she had expected.

God, why did that man make her feel so unsettled? One minute he was cold and closed off - and in the next, the warmth he provided would scorch her skin, his closeness made her catch her breath. It was so strange and she couldn’t account for it.

As the feeling of illness subsided, she let herself concede she was attracted to him. Perhaps it was his dark looks, or his fearsome reputation - however it occurred, it was clear by the way he could somehow make her heart beat fast and the way words got tangled on her tongue, making her blush.

Scooping up the package, she continued on her way.

But there was more to it, she knew that much. Something gnawing at her belly since she had seen him with that woman, that  _Veronica_. It had been eating away at her for hours, briefly repressed by the copious amounts of rum and wine she had consumed that night, but still lingering. 

If truth be told, she was jealous: jealous of the intimacy with which this woman knew the captain.

Why should she be jealous of a woman she met less than twelve hours earlier? It was so irrational! She battled her thoughts as she picked her way along the cobbled street which was beginning to swell with townsfolk going about their business, keeping half an eye open for the woman with the long, dark hair.

The memory of the looks they had exchanged while they reminisced over the table, taunted her. Such knowing smiles, responses laden with such heavy meaning: a kind of closeness, or comfortableness, with each other that she herself had yet to experience.

Perhaps she never would, she sighed. Either she would remain as she was, wandering the realms, hidden and denying her true past. Or perhaps, she began to admit, now that her mother had returned, going back to the Enchanted Forest was becoming a real possibility. And there she would inevitably be required to marry - perhaps someone like Neal, who saw her only as a pawn in a political alliance and was not interested in love, companionship or affection.

Laden with these thoughts, she reached the inn. After ordering a light meal to be brought to her room, she hurried up the stairs, keen to resume sleeping. Briefly she paused outside the captain’s door, listening. She could hear the steady sounds of breathing. It appeared to be one body, but perhaps it was two. Perhaps she was there, beside him in the bed. Asleep and naked and wrapped in his arms-

She tried to shake the thought away as she hurried to her own room, slamming the door and locking it quickly behind herself.

* * *

§§§

He had lain in bed far longer than he would ever have done aboard the Jolly. Sleep had been fitful and broken, his mind occupied with a thousand competing thoughts.

The anticipation of seeing Blackbeard that coming evening had sent blood rapidly coursing through his veins - the stench of revenge almost seeping from his pores as he tossed and turned on the damp sheets. So long he had waited to avenge his brother’s death, he could scarily believe the moment was almost upon him.

But then, thoughts of her come into his mind, of that lass.  _Emma._  Pressing back this craving for vengeful blood and instead consuming him with sense of unease and uncertainty. Why did she make him feel this way? This feeling had been rising slowly. Like an incoming tide: the way she had come to vex him so, arousing such feelings of confusion, he knew not what they meant.

So easily these feelings had been pushed aside before, when the ship and his determined plans had distracted his mind. But now - now when waiting was all they could do, now that she’d peeled off the layers of ship's dirt and rough linen, and now it was just the two of them-

He knew something had changed.

He could not easily forget the way she felt next to him in the inn, how soft her skin was or the way she blushed when he moved closer. Nor could he push away the pleasure her smile brought, or how their short tête-à-tête had intrigued him - it had been a long time since he had engaged in such chaste intimacy with a woman. He had begun to forget the was such intimate matters could fuel a man’s mind and body too-

To what, he thought? Yes, she was a pretty lass. Golden hair and green eyes wrapped up in a regal package of delicacy and lightness of form. More than pretty, he realized as he lay staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, beautiful. And intelligent, witty, brave- 

So many qualities that he could not deny.

And she had been jealous, last night. Of a brief dalliance of his youth, though last night he had purposely flirted with Veronica. He had taken pleasure in the way Emma had brooded beside them, flashing dark looks and hugging her goblet of wine.

She’d drunkenly denied it but he knew a jealous woman when he saw one. And he couldn’t deny he had enjoyed it.

* * *

§§§

A note had been slipped under her door at some point in the afternoon. 

_Meet me in the bar at sunset._

She had dressed slowly, washing her face in the room’s vanity; taking the time to twist her hair back into place and dotting her cheeks with the rouge she had purchased the day before. This evening’s gown was green, almost to match her eye color the tailor had said. The fabric a soft velvet, sewn with tiny knots of gold thread that made it shimmer in the candlelight. Underneath she wore a long, crisp white chemise with the dress’s skirt open a few inches at the front to expose it. She was especially thankful for the front lacing of the dress, as she had no one to assist her dress as she was accustomed to. Instead she herself threaded the thin ribbon through the eyes of the soft corset, pulling the ties tight so her chest as pushed upwards and arranging her breasts until they were curved into a pleasing shape.

Then darkness had fallen. With a final glance in the mirror, she picked up her cloak and left.

* * *

§§§

“What have you done?” she asked, frowning at him as she appeared from the stairs above. He had been standing at the bar, nursing a large measure of rum as he waited for her to appear.

Instinctively, he reached up to touch his face - now clean-shaven and unfamiliar. “A necessary change. It would serve us no purpose if I were spotted before we achieved our aims.”

She stared at him for a moment, tilting her head to one side. “You look different.”

“In a good way?” he replied, unable to keep the hint of flirtation from his voice.

“Just… different,” she’d sighed in response.

Though he felt an urge to press her for a more definititive response, he knew time was not on their side. So instead he gave her a small nod and picked up his cloak, “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the door.

Without replying she walked ahead of him, pushing open the door and leaving the inn.

* * *

§§§

She hadn’t asked where they were heading and he didn’t bother to tell. There was a strange unease between them that hung like a heavy fog, creating an invisible barrier as they walked in silence. Her arms were folded around her body and her hood was pulled tight around her face. He wondered, as they made their way, how much she could remember from the night before. Perhaps she was embarrassed by how much rum she had consumed, or the conversation they had had before they had retired to their rooms…

“What is this place?” she asked, when they stopped outside a large, stone block building. The doorway was short and covered with a thick, wooden door. Small windows on its frontage showed it had three floors - each small opening crossed by iron bars. There was a sign above the door, but it was so faded and greyed by the weather it was no longer legible. The whole place had an unkempt, slightly dangerous appearance. From inside came the sound of innumerable drunken voices - talking, shouting, singing.

“Cartwell’s Pub. Pirate haunt. It’s his favorite drinking hole this side of the world.”

She glanced at him through her lashes, “You seem to know him well.”

He laughed and raised his brows, “One needs to know their competition.”

Lowering her hood, she took a step closer to him. “So what is our plan?”

“We go in, find some far corner to sit and we wait for him to arrive. He should be here within the hour, if memory serves me-“

“Are you sure?” she asked, slightly incredulous.

“Pirates are creatures of habit, love.”

“And then?” she asked.

“And then it’s up to you.”

He saw her take a deep breath and he would swear a look of fear quickly passed before her eyes. Finally she nodded and held out her hand, gesturing for him to lead the way.

As the door swung open, a blanket of thick moisture that stunk of sweat and stale ale hit them. Clearly things didn’t change, he thought, as he stepped into the dark room - briefly looking back to make sure she was following. He quickly found a barmaid who pointed out a secluded table, half hidden by a small partitioning wall at the back of the inn. It had a clear view of the door and would be perfectly adequate for his purpose.

“Come this way,” he ordered, cocking his head in the direction of the table while he made quick strides towards it. They both sat, Killian immediately snuffing out the candle on the table. Rum and ale was soon ordered and as they waited Emma pulled off her gloves.

“This place smells,” she said with a crinkled nose.

“The least of our worries,” he muttered in reply as the tankards of ale and a rum bottle were slammed down on the table between them.

“You think this won't work?” she asked, her voice raising pitch as she spoke. He poured each of them a measure of rum and then looked up to meet her eyes. They were wide and fixed - the fear he had glimpsed earlier even more evident now.

“It has to.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” she hissed. She began to take deeper breaths and rubbed her palm on the back of her neck.

“I have faith in you,” he whispered, leaning over the table and taking hold of her hand, briefly squeezing it. “Just follow my instructions and both our needs will be met.”

She curled the fingers of her hand into a ball, and nodded slowly, “No going back now, I guess. So how do we do this?”

Killian swirled the rum in his cup for a second and then took a long sip before replying. “Tactfully. When he arrives, we watch him. Then, you make yourself known - stand somewhere he can see you, catch his eye then look away-“

“You want me to play coy?” she smiled, the fear lifting from her eyes.

“Men are men and they love a challenge,” he replied with a dismissive wave of the hand. “It will lead to a drink, or two and then-“

“Yes?”

“Then you move things somewhere more private.”

“Okay,” she nodded, sipping her ale and undoing the clasp of her cloak until it fell about her waist. As she nursed her drink, he took a chance to admire her. The green of her dress was more subtle than yesterday’s red, but the color was rich and accented with gold - overall exuding a more sophisticated air and he couldn’t help but be reminded of her royal blood. 

“I’m nervous,” she whispered into her cup, “What if I say the wrong thing, or he doesn’t like me-“

“Then we try something else. But it will work,” he promised. She seemed heartened by his words, but truthfully, he was unsure of their chances of success. A fickle, drunken pirate is unpredictable; he knew that better than most. Still, it was his best chance of a clean attack upon his rival - drawing him out somewhere quiet and alone, where his crew could not come to his defense. “And I suggest in the meantime, you drink.”

He refilled her cup and she watched the dark liquid pour quickly until he placed the bottle back on the table. “Trying to get me drunk again,” she quipped.

He raised a brow at her - clearly their memories of the night before differed. “Dutch courage love, always works in a pinch.”

“Not if I get so drunk I can’t walk or talk.”

“That’s where experience comes in. Now drink up - it will sooth your nerves and put you in the right…mood.”

She widened her eyes at the word ‘mood’. It had essentially remained unspoken, but they both knew what this endeavor meant: using her body, her feminine wiles and her beauty to tempt a dangerous man. More than once, he had felt a twinge of guilt. If things were to go wrong she may be hurt, or even killed. But then his need for resolution to his years of torment overrode these thoughts, well, for the most part.

The pirate did not come in an hour, or even two. 

The bar became busier. The whores arrived with their gaudy fashions and tall shoes, prying their trade among the crude clientele. 

The two spoke very little. She drank the rum he poured. He could see her skin turning pink from the heat and the alcohol and her pupils thickening as she relaxed. Every so often she would push down the shoulders of her dress or pull the ribbons of her corset a little tighter, her shyness and nervousness was almost endearing, and he watched her with a strange fascination - how could such a beauty ever doubt her appeal?

* * *

§§§

“He’s here.”

Emma’s eyes darted towards the door. Sweeping in from the chill evening air was a large group of men. Tall, short, of all ages, scarred and shorn or heavy of beard. They stomped inside en masse, heading straight for a large section of the bar opposite their table that had up until then remained empty. As they walked, they cursed and shouted and sang - grabbing the bosoms of passing wenches and stealing sups of ale from the other patrons tankards.

Behind this noisy faction, there walked a man alone except for a small manservant by his side. He wore a fine dress coat of black silk that matched almost perfectly the color of his close cropped beard and hair that hung past his ears. Around his waist hung a gaudy sabre - its handle gilded and studded with brightly colored jewels. His eyes were darkly rimmed and below them his skin creased into the lines that spoke of a life spent squinting at the sun. On his lips he wore a dim smile, full of knowing and self-consequence that turned into a small snarl as he pushed his crew from his path and settled at the head of their table.

“He’s not as old as I thought he would be,” Emma said as she turned back to Killian, “For all the tales of him I took him to be an old man.” Indeed, she could almost call him handsome - if it were not for what she knew of him and his cavalier sneer.

“No, he is not more than ten years older than I.” Hmm, Emma thought, the same age almost as her mother. She briefly mused at how people born of the same age can end up with such different lives. “Let us watch for the right moment.”

The two watched from the shadows as bottles and pitchers of ale were brought to the crew. All the barmaids in the tavern had abandoned their previous tasks to wait on the pirates. They hitched up their skirts and fawned over the men, letting them touch their bodies and pull them into wet, demanding kisses - rewarded in turn with a coin or two slipped between their breasts or by being tugged onto the lap of a willing man with the prospect, no doubt, of even greater returns.

Never had Emma seen such wanton behavior - women giving themselves to men so readily in exchange for coin or favors. Knowing such things occurred, she was not shocked, but still seeing the practice mere feet in front of her was quite the spectacle and she couldn’t deny the little spark of excitement and curiously seeing such freeways sparked in her.

“Were you like this with your crew?” she asked, turning her head back to the captain.

“What do you mean?”

She licked her lips and leaned her body a little closer over the table, “So… coarse.

Rough.”

“Not quite. But men are men, love. And men of the sea are even more wanton than most.”

Quite, she thought, imagining ships full of men for months at a time - no sweethearts to still their needs. It made sense, in a way, the trade of bodies and comforts and satisfaction. Her small experience of the opposite sex had taught her the addictive nature of sexual pleasure - the thrill, the flush of heat in your veins when skin met skin. Perhaps for men this desire was more. Perhaps women just denied themselves for the sake of modesty.

“So I see,” she replied.

Just then, she watched Blackbeard pull one of the whores onto his lap. She had a brightly painted face and shocking red hair that was too deep to be real. Her satin dress was an ornate style, with ruffles and pleats about her chest and her hair was piled high on her head in a mass of curls. Fascinated, she drank yet more rum, feeling the courage swell in her stomach with every measure. The pirate was leaning into the girl’s neck. She was laughing, perhaps he had said something. Then his hand was down her corset, dragging out her breast until he bent down and began to suckle on her pale skin as she dug her hands into his hair. Emma could feel her cheeks turning a deep pink.

“Oh God,” she whispered, looking back at Killian, “He’s so- I mean, he looks quite happy with her and what can I do now? I mean-“

“Shhh,” he hushed. “She’s merely an appetizer. Look at her, you possess ten times her beauty. Now is the time to catch his attention. He will soon forget her.”

“You think?” she asked.

“I know,” he replied, his answer laden with something more than just an honest reply.

She looked back as the pirate pushed the wench away, tossing her a silver coin as she stumbled into the lap of another of his crew. Perhaps the captain was right, she mused.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Here goes nothing.”

And with one pour, she finished her rum, picked up her skirts and walked towards the table where Blackbeard held court.

**As ever, thank your for the follows, favourites and reviews. Every one makes this worthwhile!**


	18. Green

_*Please note the rating change starting with this chapter ~now M~*_

 

The gold highlights of her dress twinkled as she moved away from him. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and sank further back into the darkness, keen to lessen any chance of being recognized by the drunken crew of Blackbeard’s ship. She seemed to hesitate after a few moments, looking around the room until she took hold of the wrist of one of the barmaids who had escaped the mass of men. Emma whispered into the lasses ear and she nodded, dashing away behind the bar.

There were posts dotted around the room that supported the floor above, she moved towards one, slowly leaning back against it, wrapping one arm around the coarse wood behind her, the other lifting up to tangle in the loose strands of hair about her neck.

Killian glanced at the rival pirate. His hand was curved around a bottle of rum and he leaned back in his chair, legs splayed. Behind him a wench had her lips by his ear, no doubt outlining the benefits of her services. But the pirates eyes were roaming the bar, flickering from place to place until he saw them rest upon Emma - his eyes immediately widening, his lips parting, as he looked her up and down.

Killian glanced at Emma. She had rolled back her head, affording a clear view to Blackbeard of her long neck and décolletage. Killian couldn't help his own visual exploration of her form, stood as she was in clear profile of where he sat - from the rise of her breasts to the thickness of her skirts that swelled from her hips - how could a pirate resist such temptation? 

The barmaid arrived again with a tray containing a flagon of wine and two glasses. Emma slipped the woman a few coins and picked up the gourd and glasses, swinging them between her fingers as she sashayed towards his table.

Killian swallowed deeply and clenched his fingers around his glass. Now it all began.

§§§

* * *

She swung her hips as she walked, her muscles loosened by the rum and the heady feeling of so many eyes watching her as she moved. But she kept her gaze fixed on him. For minutes now they had observed each other from across the room - his deep, black eyes dipping over her body, as though he could see beneath her chemise.

Was it wrong to take some fleeting pleasure in the obvious hunger in his eyes? She already knew she abhorred him- to her he was merely the means of securing her and her mother’s safety, a dangerous man whose brutality she knew was not exaggerated. But still,  the heady lust on his face ignited a peal of instinctual pleasure: she caused that, he wanted her.

Pushing past those in her path, she worked her way around to where he sat. He raised his brows at her approach and she smiled, flashing a glimpse of tongue as she dampened her lips.

“Oh dear,” she sighed, pushing a wench out of the way and sitting at the end of the bench beside him. “What is a lady to do? All this fine wine - I’m not sure I can drink it all…”

As if to prove her point, she lifted the flagon in front of her and frowned a little.

“A lady?” the pirate replied, a gruff burst of laughter punctuating his question.

“Of course,” was her haughty response as she pulled the cork from the container and poured a glass of the wine within. “So you will assist a lady?” she asked.

His eyes dimmed and he gave a small nod.

“And just who are you,  _lady_?” he murmured as he picked up the goblet she offered.

“No one of consequence,” she purred, sliding a little closer until their knees met, “Not like the dreaded Captain Blackbeard.”

“So you know who I am?”

“Of course.”

“And yet you still approach.”

Emma didn’t reply. Instead she looked at him over the rim of her cup as she took a drink of the full bodied wine. It was the best the tavern had to offer, but still somewhat bitter on her tongue. He was watching her mouth intently. She leaned across and peeled the bottle of rum from his hands, tilting back her head to take a sip, swallowing slowly before placing it back on the table.

Yes, she thought as she watched his lips curl, she could do this.

§§§

* * *

His stomach had tensed as she had arrived at the table. The eyes of the men surrounding the rival pirate had immediately fixated on the pretty blonde and the skin exposed at her chest as she forced herself into a space next to him. She lifted the flagon and the pirate laughed. Killian’s hand went automatically to the sword at his side. A flash of worry gripped his chest.  But then Blackbeard had raised a goblet to his lips and and he sank deeply into his chair with relief.

The constriction he felt, as he watched the two, was unexpected. He knew to be cautious: this game they played relied on a number of uncontrollable factors but was realistically one of the few ways to get the pirate into a vulnerable situation. 

Yet it was more than that. It was worry. A flash of concern as he saw Blackbeard put his hand on her leg, nausea as he watched her whisper into his ear - his hands clenching tighter as he saw her draw up her chest and lean closer.

He couldn’t look away. 

A barmaid came with a pitcher of beer, filling up his glass as he slid a coin her way.

Their heads were close, her lips just a hairbreadth from his cheek. The pirate slid a hand over the bare skin of her shoulder and around her neck, his fingers lingering on her collarbone, tracing it slowly as she drank from her goblet.

Killian caught his breath when she began to whisper in his ear. The pirate began to smile. He recognised that expression - it was the one of a man with lust in his veins and a willing body by his side.

Their deception was working. Yet why did he feel so ill?

He grabbed the arm of a passing barmaid - the same one who had brought the ale - and asked for another bottle of rum to be brought to his table.

§§§

* * *

It was working, she thought, as she stared into his dark, hollow eyes. They’d sat drinking the wine and talking for some time now. She asked flirtatious questions about the life of a pirate and he had given innuendo laden replies, some of which had made her need to stifle the urge to blush.

“And how, pray tell, does a  _lady_  like you find herself in a place such as this?”

Her eyes dropped to his blood red lips, so crisply outlined by his midnight-black beard. “I’m awaiting passage on a ship to another realm. This seemed as good a place as any to make a layover.”

“An unusual choice for such a sojourn. You must not know the reputation of this town.”

“Oh but I do,” she replied with a breathy whisper, fluttering her eyelids as he tugged the arm around her neck, urging her closer. “I enjoy a little danger,  _Captain_.”

“You do?” he smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face, “Then come here and I’ll show you what danger is all about.”

She let out a little shriek as he pulled her into his lap, resting his hand around her waist and spilling a little wine onto the emerald fabric of her dress. He gave her a devious smile and she felt her stomach tense. He smelled strongly of tobacco and rum; an oddly comforting odor considering the situation. Underneath her legs she felt the thick muscles of his legs. He was tall and strong, a heavier build than Hook. She was under no illusion that she would be unable to fight him - he was too strong. She swallowed a flare of fear.

“Now love,” he whispered in her ear, “Just how well do you wish to know this old pirate?”

He flexed up his hips as he spoke and she felt an unmistakable hardness press against the flesh of her backside. 

This was really happening.

Taking her time, she refilled her glass and then fixed her green eyes on his. “ _Very_ well.”

She took a sip, willing the alcohol into her veins, hoping for more courage to complete her task. “Intimately,” she whispered, pressing down on his hardness and taking a small, unexpected amount of pleasure at the way he groaned and let out a muttered ‘fuck’ as she rolled her hips.

“Why you are a libidinous lass,” he purred. 

Releasing his goblet, his fingers began to pick at the hem of her skirt, the rough skin dipping underneath and up her leg. They skimmed her thighs and she became rigid, pressing them together.

“Second thoughts?”

And she bit back a shiver. She mustn’t lose her bravery now…

“Never,” she vowed, reaching down to the length of hardness behind her and pressing her fingers around it, turning to look him in the eye, bringing her other hand to her mouth and running a finger along her rouge-darkened lips.

“Good.” He pulled up his knees to she tumbled closer to him, then leaned down and placed his mouth on her neck, sucking hard on the flesh while his hand began to squeeze at her chest. She leaned back her head as his fingers pressed into her corset, grasping her breast and toying with her nipple sending a shot of heat mixed with revulsion straight to her center. “Your tits are magnificent, lady,” he mewed into her mouth, his breath quick and thick with alcohol.

When he leaned in for a kiss, she started for a moment. A memory of her last kiss rose, with the captain, in his quarters: the way her heart had leapt and her mind had clouded over-

These lips were more demanding. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she steeled herself, grabbing the lengths of his hair and matching the kiss with determination born only from her bitter resolve to free her mother. She swung a leg around his waist, ignoring the muted cheers from those around, concentrating only on capturing his attention and sealing her fate as the woman he wanted, of all those present. His hand was on her back, pushing her waist closer to him. 

There was no release and she struggled for breath. His mouth was hard and slightly rough, his beard scraped against her skin and she knew it would be red and sore for hours. But she took no heed, instead pouring herself into the task of securing a pirate’s affections, if only for the night.

§§§

* * *

When Blackbeard’s hand had slipped into her dress, Killian had began to feel nauseous. Seeing her used that way caused the seed of guilt in his stomach to germinate and bloom into something resembling regret. This was wrong. He should now have put her in that situation; she was a princess for Christ’s sake!

Her face flinched and his breath caught - would she push him away? End this ruse? Part of him wished so: part of him desiring to see the fiery temper of which he had caught glimpses of. Perhaps see her slap his face or throw the glass of wine at him.

Instead, she kissed him. Hard and fast, curling into his lap to the cheering hollers of the crew around them.

And something instantly snapped in Killian. Anger. Pain. Sickness - all in one. He didn’t want this. He had to stop himself from dashing over and pulling the two apart and running Blackbeard through there and then with his sword.

This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Though he tried to look away, he was transfixed. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he pressed his hand against her waist. The two seemed lost, like they had forgotten the bar.

Oh god, he couldn’t look away.

This was wrong.

It should be him she was embracing, kissing, holding - giving the promise too of much more. He touched his lips, remembering their brief kiss. Hell he’d tried to press the memory away, but it resurfaced as if it were only moments ago. Her soft lips, the taste of her, the quickening of his pulse as she had arched into him.

Jealousy engulfed him.

He took a shaking sip of rum as it all made sense. The sickness, the unease and the want that was consuming him.

Oh he wanted her. God, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman.

But there she was, wrapped in another man’s arms. Ostensibly at his bidding.

§§§

* * *

His teeth bit down on her lip and she yelped a little.

“You like to play rough, Captain?” she gasped as she ran the back of her hand against her mouth.

“Oh yes, lass,” he replied, both hands slipping under her backside and squeezing tight. He was just about to lean in for another kiss when a figure appeared behind them, tapping urgently at his shoulder until he snapped back his head, “What?!” he growled.

The young sailor bent to his ear, whispering a message until the captain nodded a little and rolled back his head. His hands moved to her thigh and he looked her in the eye. “I’m afraid, lass, business takes me away.”

A feeling of disappointment mixed with relief rose: she wouldn’t have to kiss him again, at least not tonight, but their plan was also extended by this news.

“Oh,” she sighed, linking her hands between his neck, “Nothing that will take you from port, I hope?”

He gave a devious, low bellied laugh, “Fear not, love, I will not leave you unsated.”

“Tomorrow?” she whispered, rocking her hips until his eyes rolled back.

“Aye, tomorrow,” he replied with a wink, abruptly standing so that she slid back onto the bench, his outstretched arm beckoning to his crew, “Lads, make haste, leave ya whores and grab your scabbards.”

She looked on as he stomped out of the inn, his crew downing their drinks and sulking off behind him, some staggering towards the door with their tankards still in hand.

Suddenly the whole bar was quiet. Now the mass of men had left, the remaining patrons seemed somewhat civilized in comparison. She took a moment to compose herself, still reeling from her encounter - somewhat disbelieving that she had almost seduced the most dreaded pirate of the seas.

Eventually, people began to fill the empty space around her. Clutching her bottle, she stood and turned back to face the room. 

And then she saw him - clear blue eyes boring into her, his mouth agape, staring relentlessly at her form as she stepped nearer.

“What happened?” he asked when she was close.

“Some matter called them away.” She sank to the bench opposite him and swung her legs under the table, “But I think I provided sufficient incentive to draw him back tomorrow.

A loud scoff left his lips and Emma narrowed her eyes. “Is there a problem, Captain?”

“No,” he replied into his cup, “Just a little disappointed that my quarry will not be obtained this evening.”

“Hmm,” she sighed, looking around the thinning crowd of the bar. “Perhaps we ought to retire. He intends to return tomorrow and our plan can resume.”

“As you wish,” he snipped, grabbing the bottle of rum from the table and heading straight for the door.

Emma frowned. He didn’t look back to make sure she was following this time. Scowling, she grabbed her cloak and hurried after him.

What was wrong with him?

§§§

* * *

The cold air hit him hard. The rum he had drank felt twice as strong in the frigidity of the sea breeze. He lifted the bottle, pouring the contents into his mouth. Sweet and cloying, he swirled it around his tongue until the alcohol stung and swallowed.

When he dropped his arm, she was by his side.

“Ready?” he quipped.

“Yes.”

Cocking his head, he began to walk, quick little steps that left her struggling behind him, sipping more rum every so often.

“Have you not drank enough?” 

He stopped and turned, “And what concern is it of yours?”

The look of surprise on her face made him feel instantly remorseful - he wanted to apologize but she spoke first.

“Only that we have a short time here and I do not want to spend tomorrow sobering you up,” she snapped.

Her eyes were narrowed and her hands had found her waist - the heavy cloak billowing around her shoulders. He took another haughty sip before tossing the bottle hard over her head until it crashed against the wall of a nearby house.

“Was that necessary?” she cried, her brow crinkling as she stepped closer.

“You asked me to stop drinking, so I obliged.” He gave her a mock bow. He couldn’t stop. He’d started on this teasing, confrontational path and the rum in him wouldn’t let him backtrack.

She let out a hiss and marched past him, picking up her skirts to step over a puddle. “I don’t understand you,” he heard her mutter. Irritated, he raced in front of her, barring her path.

“What do you mean by that?”

Emma tugged on her cloak that had risen to press against her neck. “I  _mean_  I don’t understand you. Just who are you, Captain? One minute you’re cold and closed off, the next I almost feel like I know you - and then you’re this-“

“And what am I?”

“An ass, Captain, that’s what you are.” She flicked her hands in his direction and tried to push past him.

“If I’m an ass what does that make you?”

Arms folded, she stared at him. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“No,” he lied, huffing a breath in and out. He wanted to stop talking but the rum had other ideas. “I merely observed what a good actress you were this evening. That is, unless, you actually enjoyed that-“

He was cut off by a sharp slap to his cheek. It stung madly and briefly shook him from his drunken haze.

Her gaze was burning- she looked hurt and angry.

“I was wrong, you’re not an ass. You’re just a pirate and I have no idea why I ever thought otherwise.”

She stormed off, leaving him reeling in her wake, rocking on his heels until he whipped around just in time to see her disappearing into a doorway at the end of the street.

§§§

* * *

The blood was boiling in her veins as she stepped into the small tavern. Instantly, dozens of pairs of eyes looked her way. Ignoring them she marched up to the bar. The bartender behind it was short and greying, with spectacles perches on his nose, he looked at her with a bored expression. “Rum please,” she ordered, tapping her fingers on the bar and loosening her cloak as he poured a healthy measure. “Leave the bottle,” she added as he went to put it away. He merely tipped his head and replaced the cork and she grabbed the bottle and walked to the side of the bar.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

She spun to face the voice. He was so close to her she could feel his heavy breathing on her cheek. 

“You tell me!” she hissed, taking another drink straight from the bottle. Then she met him in a heavy stare, watching as his shoulders curved inwards a little.

“You should stop drinking,” he said quietly.

“Oh, now we are the advocate of temperance! Pray tell, pirate, what has changed in the past five minutes?” His expression clouded over and he pursed his lips.

Looking down he replied, “I apologize for my behavior. It was unwarranted. Now may we be on our way?”

He seemed remorseful, but she was too annoyed to care. “No. I want another drink and I shall have one. I am a free woman who makes her own decisions.”

“Well I think you were right and we must prepare for tomorrow-“

“Fine then, off you go. Perhaps you might get lucky and Veronica may warm your bed again this evening.” 

As soon as she had spoken she bit her tongue. The rum had worked all too well, she’d lost control of her mouth and she blushed as she saw the way his eyes narrowed.

“Veronica? I don’t understand, nothing happened-“

But, she couldn’t stop herself. “Perhaps I’ll find a conquest myself here?” She looked around the room, a few people were staring at the two engaged in heated conversation - all men, most old but there were a few handsome enough faces between them. “Fair’s fair and all.”

“You are nonsensical woman!” He grabbed the rum and tugged out the cork with his teeth and spat it to the floor, “You think that I took an old friend to bed last night?”

“Not just a friend,” she quipped.

Stop, she told herself, please stop-

“Oh, is that it. I knew it. I knew it last night. You  _are_ jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” she retorted, turning her back to him, his words stinging her with their truth.

Oh god, he was right. She was jealous. Consumed by envy. Stricken by clawing want. Her stomach retched and she clutched the wall at her right. The room started to slowly spin.

“If you say so. And _as_  you say you are a free woman, so I will be on my way-“

His words tasted bitter, clashing against her skin and making it prickle. She looked back at him, he was slowly turning away until his eyes met hers.

Her jaw clenched, her body followed her gaze and her hand reached out and grasped the clasp of his cloak. Stumbling forward, she crashed against his chest, tugging him closer with wavering breaths.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, edging up on her toes.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes searching hers, it was almost as if he could see straight inside her. She felt naked and exposed and her mind searched for a response.

“I-I-“ she hesitated.

All of a sudden, she pressed her lips against his, immediately halting her words, instilling her answer with her kiss.

The other pirate’s kiss was wiped from her mind. His was soft against her lips. He tasted like rum and _man_. His fingers were soft; they tangled in her hair and she felt the pins that held it in place loosening as his hooked arm sliding around her waist.

Her own hands dug into his shoulders and she pushed up higher on her toes, deepening the kiss.

She couldn’t bear the thought of thought of him with someone else. She wanted to smear her scent over him as a warning to others - he had to be hers. Nothing else made sense. 

She slid her tongue into his mouth and he turned them so she was pressed into the wall, his body weighing against her as he pressed a knee between her thighs.

Oh it was so much more than the kiss they had earlier shared. She had never been kissed like this before. His hand slid around her neck and cupped her cheek, rubbing is softly as his lips moved along her jaw.

“Captain-“ she muttered.

“ _Killian_ ,” he corrected, lifting his head. She saw the same heady, lusty gaze she knew she wore. Her legs trembled and her heart raced.

 

“Killian,” she repeated, pressing a hand against his chest. “Let’s go.”

**A/N I know I'm evil for leaving it there... But I love a cliffhanger almost as much as I love all your reviews!!!**


	19. Such Sweet Surrender

Tumbling out into the street, their lips barely parted. They darted between the shadows of the buildings, his arms pressing them together, her fingers tangled in his hair.

How they made it back to the tavern, she would never comprehend, but somehow they were outside, underneath the creaking sign - her back against the cold wall, her leg hitched around his waist, his mouth burning a path along the skin of her chest.

“Inside,” she whined, tugging on his hair until he looked up - his eyes alive, their blue color scorchingly intense even in the darkness. Wrapping her fingers around his, they slipped into the almost empty tavern, her head down as she led him to the staircase. Quickly, she gathered up her skirts and mounted the stairs two at a time, dragging him behind her as he struggled to maintain pace.

At the top of the stairs she stumbled, twisting onto her back so that he fell on top of her, his hand and hook landing at the sides of her body. So near was his mouth, a mere inch away from hers,that she ached to feel it upon her again. Devouring her in another longing kiss, his hand was at her waist; her fingers clawing at his shirt, desperate for she knew not what - only knowing it was more than she had ever imagined and she needed it now.

“My room,” she panted into his ear as his attentions dropped to her neck; the keen flesh tingling with every touch and making her flex her back, pushing her hips closer to his. She was frantic for him - her heart stuttering to the beat of their frenzied embrace.

He swiftly pulled her upright. The key was found in her pocket. Shaking hands searched for the keyhole as her tongue and lips played a merry dance with his, a darting motion of tos and froes, give and take, ebb and flow.

A click. The door swung open. Without pause, her fingers were working the buttons of his shirt as he kicked it closed with his heavy boot. Then her back was against the uneven wood, the bones of her shoulders pressed against it as they tangled together, his hips thrusting against hers as he wrestled his coat over his shoulders.

She couldn’t wait. She was too hot. She needed escape from the burning. She needed release.

Abandoning his buttons, she curled back her head, encouraging his mouth to work down the center of her throat before he began to nip at the exposed skin of her chest, his hook pulling her corset a little lower until the barest crescent of pink aureola was exposed and lovingly laved by his tongue.

An electrical spark tore through her, rippling the muscles inside, drawing them tight as she gasped and clenched her fists into his hair.

_More._

There wasn’t a moment to think; not to pause and consider what was happening or the meaning of it all. It was too quick, too heated - instinct fuelling her actions, unmetered by her cool head.

Crazed with need, she clawed at her skirts, urgently dragging the heavy layers higher until her fingers made purchase with the thick cotton of her stockings, dragging down the material down her legs.

This was happening. Had she wanted this? When had this feeling begun…

She only knew that she needed him: now, or she would combust with desire.

He paused. His hand and hook joined hers under the skirts, looping beneath her behind and hoisting her high enough so they were eye to eye, before his fumbling hand moved to the fastening of his pants. As he worked, Killian buried his face between her breasts, dragging his teeth over them - Emma whimpering impatiently as the seconds passed.

When he looked up he shifted his hips forward and she could  _feel_  him; brushing against her - hot and smooth and needy. Heat prickled the back of her neck. Her stomach tightened.

His roughened fingers slid up her thigh. Time seemed to be moving so still she wanted to scream. Then those same fingers were kneading the flesh of her ass, his eyes asking silent permission as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

She bit her lip and tilted her hips until her wetness met his hardness and they both bit back a gasp. “Now,” she demanded. He gave an almost imperceptible gasp, gripping her tighter before he pushed forward. Easily he slipped inside her - her wetness betraying her lust as she cried out in surprise. For a second they stilled. He loosened his grip and let her slip further down onto him; she moaned at the fullness and the pleasing ache of him.

With soft grunts he began to rock forward, keeping her firm against the door, hips clashing together - bruises for another day assured, but any jarring melting away in the fluid pleasure of her building climax.

She felt light as a feather in his arms; muttering nonsense and curses as he increased his speed, his quick breaths making her feel so wanton and desired she fought back the urge to scream and instead clamped down her mouth on his still-clothed shoulder, pressing her teeth into the  cotton covered  flesh, arching her fingers into the muscles of his shoulder.

“Emma, Emma-“

Chanting her name like a prayer, his voice filled her ears with her name, his desire: a potent aphrodisiac that shucked away the last shell of defense. 

And then she was tumbling away into welcome nothingness. Her body cramping rapidly against his in delicious ripples of pleasure.

Incoherent words began to tumble from his lips. Abruptly he lifted her limp body and pulled away, turning a little to the side, his hand going to his length and working it furiously. Emma barely noticed the slapping sound of skin as she recovered against the door until a strained cry told her he had found his own release.

She sank to the floor, her knees collapsing beneath her. 

§

* * *

He took a few seconds to come back to his senses. The blind passion of only moments earlier had taken away all lucidity - the room had turned black, the only sound he could hear was the rushing of blood to his brain.

Doubled over, he caught his breath, briefly registering the stain of his release on his shirt - his hand reaching over his shoulder to shuck it off and toss it to the floor and tucking himself quickly back into his pants.

Emma was an arm ’ s length away. She sat with her palms flat on the wooden floorboards, gasping for breath. He sank beside her, pulling her limp body into his arms so that her head lay on his chest and his hook held her waist.

They stilled a few moments. The beat of his heart was startlingly loud in the quiet room. Neither spoke. Words would break the spell.

Killian tried to gather his thoughts - the past minutes a hazy blur of instinct. The hows and the whys and the meaning of it all, lingering questions in his mind. 

With light fingers he brushed against her cheek and whispered in her ear, “Sorry, couldn’t risk you getting stuck with the bastard child of a pirate.”

He felt her smile against his bare skin. She sighed gently, slowly lifting up her head until their eyes met. They were wide; large black pupils blown out against the earthy green of her irises. His jaw clenched as he looked from eye to eye: searching.

Killian swallowed and dropped his gaze, focusing on the small scar just below her collar bone. He briefly wondered how that mark had been left on her skin. Maybe he’d never know.

“I’m so, so sorry…that was —“  he quickly moistened his lips, “I don’t know what overcame me and-“

“Shhh,” she murmured, pressing a single finger onto his lips, pausing them mid-sentence. “I wanted it too,” she whispered.

“Oh,” he softly sighed, “I’m not your-“

“First?” she asked, before shaking her head.

His stomach lurched at her words. Did she feel it? That longing - that need that had lingered over him for so many weeks now, though he’d tried so hard to deny it?

Emma’s fingers glided over his face, combing into his hair and drawing circles into his scalp. He wasn’t sure if he was drunk, or if the heady feeling was from her touch, or the after effects of orgasm, but he knew he would never get enough of it and was already craving more.

Then that inbuilt sense of honor hit upon him all of a sudden as her fingers tangled tighter in his hair.

“I should leave,” he said flatly, his brow crinkling, his body making no attempt to move.

Immediately, her hand slipped to his wrist where it lingered near her neck, circling it tightly and pulling it to her chest where the ribbons closed her corset. “Stay,” she pleaded, her other hand tugging at the loose end of the bow that tied the ribbon.

Slowly, he nodded his agreement to her request, hesitantly reaching for the ribbon  fastenings , working down them like a ladder with his fingers. Each one loosened softly, the chemise underneath spilling forth.

With a satisfied sigh, Emma arched her back; her long exposed neck too tempting a vision to not be lavished by his tongue as he tugged the thick material of the corset wider. “Killian,” she murmured under her hot breath. He started at the sound of his name on her breathy lips - so unfamiliar yet so enticing.

Scraping his teeth into the crook of her neck, he lifted his hook and quickly sliced through the remaining ribbons before pushing the garment over her shoulders and leaving her clad only in her simple linen chemise. “Are you sure?” he asked. His hand was lying gently on her shoulder, his hook had fallen into his lap.

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied, underlining her answer by pressing her lips tightly against his and scrambling into his lap until the two tumbled over onto the hard, wooden floor. 

Her hips pressed against his - legs tangling together - her hands moving up and down his chest in a sensual rhythm which he reciprocated in the actions of his lips and hand. With a quick pull, Emma rolled onto her back. Killian balanced above her on his forearms, his pendants pooling onto her chest as he covered her face in hot kisses until she captured his mouth again with a hot kiss.

Nimbly her fingers dragged over the skin of his stomach and traced the waistband of his pants. His stomach muscles clenched at her touch, so near to where he longed to feel her again that he automatically pivoted his hips into her palm.

“Umph,” she groaned. He looked up just in time to see her grimace under him. The cold, unwelcoming floor was clearly paining her combined with the weight of him.

Pushing back on his knees, he drew her up into his arms. She was limp and pliant for a moment, until she looped her hands around his neck and together they stood; careening towards the bed as the frantic energy of earlier returned. He could feel it coursing through his veins and heating his skin. He pressed her body to his as they collapsed onto the firm, hay-filled mattress in a tangle of arms and legs.

§

* * *

He was so firm beneath her hands.

Not just in that muscular, firm way that a farm boy or a lieutenant could be. Rather, he was solidly male: the result of a lifetime of toil and battle. She rocked against him as he slid her further onto the bed, drawing up her legs and using her heels to push down his thick, cotton trousers while he in turn tugged her linen chemise up over her bare skin and back onto the floor.

Somehow during the dance of their brief liaison so far, the candle by her bed that had been lit by the maid was snuffed out. The scent of molten wax and the soft burning of the wick filled the air. It was soothing and familiar, yet more so when combined with his clawing scent of sweat and man. Beneath her body the rough linen sheets scraped her bare skin in a deliciously sensual way that made her shudder as she ground her hips beneath him.

How quickly had her desire returned? So briefly sated by him, it had risen once more - painfully quickly - threatening to not leave until it was satisfied once more.  _Only_  once more?

His lips and his hand and his hook were there upon everywhere at once. His hot, surprisingly soft mouth, soon followed by roughened fingers and cool metal which had her mewing and aching within seconds. A sweet concoction of sensation that she’d never desired before, but now never wished to be without.

He tasted sweet. The rum he had drunk was evident on his tongue, but beyond that was something more intangible. It was an essence almost, something that clung in her throat and on the tip of her tongue as he alternated eager explorations of her body with furtive kisses. She knew she would never forget it.

Wrapping her legs in his, she lay back, letting her arms settle at her sides. His legs felt strong and muscular underneath hers. She tightened her grip on him. 

His warm tongue had found her breast again, teasing at one nipple and shooting a hot spark of desire right to her core with each motion of his tongue.

“Oh God…” she cried softly.

He stopped. Blue eyes met her straight on. Hot, despite their cool color. She shivered involuntarily.

§

* * *

Damn, she felt heavenly beneath him. Delicious, soft curves matched with flat planes. How had she hidden this beneath that boyish garb?

He was eager and desperate to seek out all her hidden treasures- the sensitive spot where hip met leg, the hidden underskin of her breast and the finger sized dimples that punctuated the upper curve of her behind.

Wrapping his tongue around her nipple, he felt her squirm beneath him; her body pressing delightfully into his growing hardness and intensifying his already heady sensations.

“Oh  Gods…”

He caught her eye. Pretty green eyes surrounded by long, black lashes. For a moment, he lay still, transfixed.

“I…” he began.

“Killian-“she whispered.

“Emma, I-“

He pressed a kiss to her temple, rippling his body against hers as he tried to express himself physically where words had fallen short.

“I want to make love to you.” 

She sucked in a quick breath and her eyelids began to flutter through a shuddering breath.

“Aye,” she answered.

Her agreement ensured, his pace suddenly dipped.

The desire to savor and cherish holding back his burning need to be inside her once more.

With an arm around her waist, he shifted her light body up on the bed, so her head lay on the soft, feather pillow. The last of her hair pins were long gone, and her curled, wild hair spread around her head on the white linen - almost as if she were some kind of angel.

Shifting up to join her, he twisted onto his side and she turned to face him.

§

* * *

 

 

 

Gently she slid closer, grasping his hip.

His heavy, hard length dug into her skin and a flash of recollection of what he felt like inside her ignited in her mind.

“Come here, pirate-“ she cooed, another hand around his neck, widening the gait of her legs so he slipped easily between them; his satisfying weight pressing her into the mattress and a moan falling from his lips.

“Is that what I am to you?”

Surprised, she dug her fingers tighter into his skin.

“No. You are more. You are Killian,” she replied, hoping her sincerity rang clearly through her words.

She palmed his back, cradling his hips with her own - rocking against his erection - as he suckled her neck and made her gasp for breath. She tilted her hips further, curving into him until she felt his hardness slip between her thighs and slide against her wetness.

“Gods,” he moaned into her neck, the words reverberating on her skin.

Had she ever felt so alive than here, in his arms?

§

* * *

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Her feet dug into his ass, drawing him in. Slowly, he sank into her. Slow enough to feel every motion of her muscles as they settled around him, gripping him firmly and rippling softly as he came to a rest, hip flush against hip.

So complete. So right.

Years of brief dalliances were brushed away in seconds - the realization of what he had been missing for so long clearly apparent as he settled inside her.

“I thought you were going to make love to me?” she asked, looking up at him with beautiful wide eyes.

Withdrawing a little, he swirled his hips. She cooed; he was hitting all those sensitive spots inside. And then he realized that all he wanted to do was make her feel good. All selfish motivation that had fuelled him for so long seemed futile.

He pressed deeper again, rocking into her in a slow, deliberate motion - every action determined by her responses - small noises and motions. He read each one, reacting quickly to her needs, soaking up every indication of satisfaction.

§

* * *

Consumed by him, she felt limp.

Whereas before had been fast and frantic - this was slow and deliberate. Every action of his designed to elicit a response from her and her body acquiesced to his incessant ministrations.

Eager for more, she tightened her grip on his hips and rocked to meet each of his thrusts. Soon, he was working in a steady rhythm as she met him stroke for stroke.

She took hold of his chin, plying his mouth with hungry kisses, then pulling back.

Those hypnotic blue eyes drew her in. She stayed locked in his gaze as their bodies melded together and seemingly worked as one. The room was getting hotter. Her body wore a thin coat of sweat.

Searching his face, she rocked faster.

What did he want? What did he need?

What was this?

Questions tumbling through her mind as tightness grew in her belly and a part of her wanted to slow down. She wasn’t ready yet…

His breathing quickened. His eyes became more hooded.

“ _Emma-_ “

Oh God, she was close-

“Come with me-“She begged, writhing against him, seeking that friction that she knew would finish her.

§

* * *

It only took those pleading words to take him that extra step.

 

 

He grabbed her shoulder. 

He couldn’t pull away-

“Come inside me.”

She held him tight against her so he shuddered heavily into her chest as his release came. So much stronger than the first time. He looked into her eyes until he was so overwhelmed they squeezed shut, his hips jolting against hers as his climax met a crescendo, filling her as he finished with limp strokes of his hips and a finger tangled in her hair.

§

* * *

So quickly she was there. Her breath caught.

She felt him try to pull away. But she wanted him close - needed him.

“Come inside me.”

He shuddered against her, rocking quicker as her heels dug into the rounded flesh of his ass and she was overcome.

Stronger, harder, longer than before.

How was it possible? She thought in a haze, tired hands sinking onto his back as he settled on top of her.

§

* * *

After a few moments, lucidity began to again emerge. He laid kisses along her collarbone, gently sliding out of her and onto his stomach as she lay almost prostrate next to him.

He reached out and ran his fingers along her warm stomach.

“That tickles,” she whispered. Gently she tangled her fingers in his and they lay entwined, rising and falling with the motions of her breathing.

Time seemed to run away with them. It may have been just seconds, or minutes or more before they turned to face each other. He quickly took in the flush of her cheeks and the healthy glow in her eyes.

Gods, she was beautiful.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, any further exposition on the subject denied by the overwhelming wave of tiredness that had arose within him.

“Hmmm,” she sighed. “Hold me?” she asked.

He swallowed and nodded, his body still electrified from his climax, her skin cool as she turned and settled back against him.

“Good night, Emma,” he murmured into her ear as she lazily rocked her hips against his.

“Good night,” she sighed.

§

* * *

He was warm and comfortable and delicious against her.

A part of her said she should worry and fret and decide what this was-

But tiredness won and she was soon fast asleep.

In his arms.

 

**A/N - HUGE thanks today to my wonderful beta Ztofan - who inspires me and keeps me in check, thic fic would not be possible without her!!**

**Thank you once more for all the follows, favourites and reviews. You will never know how much they all mean to me!**


	20. What are you afraid of?

**A/N - Let's let them have a little more time together before it all gets real!**

Emma had never spent a whole night sharing a bed with another. The brief trysts of her past were secret, hurried affairs; usually ending with a quick kiss and flushed cheeks, as she snuck back to her chambers before the sun rose and she was missed.

So when she first began to glide back into consciousness that next morning, it was a little startling to realize she was not alone. 

The other side of the bed was warm and had dipped slightly under his weight. Her arm brushed against his: he lay on his stomach, his face turned towards her and his hair sweetly disheveled as he peacefully slept. His arms were under his pillow but she noticed at some point he had removed the brace which held his hook and tossed to the bottom of the bed. Without his usual clothing and perpetual smirk, he seemed almost ordinary. Well, if it hadn’t have been for his handsome features and the sharply cut muscles of his shoulders.

Slowly, she rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand and looking down at him. His breathing was slow and measured. She studied his dark eyelashes that curled slightly at the ends; they were so full she was envious. Next, those heavy brows, that arched when he talked but now were still and settled beneath the gently lined skin of his forehead. Then his lips- her heart briefly fluttered and her stomach clenched as she remembered how they had caressed her the night before - from which fell such silky words of praise that she blushed at the memory.

It was impossible to stop the smile before it reached her mouth. She bit her bottom lip and held in a little happy laugh. Was this real? A dream? It was so impossibly unexpected that she wanted to pinch herself. How had she denied her growing feelings for so long? Was she so obstinate and strong willed that she had missed her attraction to him? Or perhaps she’d pushed it away, never even considering that he could feel the same way.

Was that what it was - what had happened between them - just an attraction? An overspilling of a growing tension that she had dismissed so easily until they were left alone? Because it could never be more, could it? How could a pirate and a princess ever be more than a passing dalliance? Like those she had devoured in the romance novels, the ones she always denied having read.

“Are you going to say anything, love, or are you just enjoying the view?”

Her smile faltered and her cheeks flushed red hot when she realized he was awake- his wide blue eyes gazing up at her. How had she not noticed?

“I-“ her lashes fluttered in embarrassment as she sought the right words to answer him.

“Relax, love, I’m just teasing.”

The way he smiled at her was quite devastating; it was with such dazzling intensity she felt a little dizzy and taken aback. The feeling only ended when his hand slipped around her head, pulling it down to him and pressing a simple, soft kiss onto her lips.

“Good morning,” he whispered as they moved a little apart. She rested her forehead against his, their noses nudging, a warm, comforting feeling coming over her as his hand slipped to her hip. 

Quietly, she asked, “Did you sleep well?” 

“Aye. Best sleep in as long as I can recall.”

“I wonder why,” she teased, wrapping a loose strand of straw-colored hair behind her ear.

“I couldn’t possibly say,” he murmured, his hand tightening around her waist until they were pressed together. He captured her mouth in another kiss - this time searing hot, his tongue brushing against hers as he sighed deeply, drawing up his fingers into her hair. His face lingered close to hers as they caught their breath; it was almost as if he was memorizing how she felt, her scent - the sound of her heartbeat against his chest.

§

* * *

 With her body lain against his, Killian felt strangely at peace. His mind was calm. Gone were the usual thoughts and feelings which often filled every available piece of him. Instead all he focused on was how soft her hair felt against his hand, the warmth of her body and soothing rhythm of her heart as it began to beat faster as the seconds passed by. He’d taken the chance to kiss her one last time, to taste her sweet and pleasing lips; to remember the sensation for a lonely day.

It was unclear still, how they had gone from heated words, to a passionate kiss and finally a clinging embrace as he took her hungrily against the door. So quickly she had consumed every part of him. He’d  _needed_ her. It was a physical ache. One that still lingered: threatening to rise up again at any second if they continued to remain so close.

And that was it of course, a physical need. They had both been desperate for the release - the tension and danger of recent weeks coming to a peak.

That was what had happened. Of course.

And they were both somewhat drunk. So anything that had been said, or not said, was easily discounted…

“Perhaps we should rouse ourselves. Wouldn’t want to be the talk of the inn.” 

Stiffening her body as he spoke, Emma loosened her fingers, letting them trail along the silver chain about his neck, exploring each curved link as she slowly made her way to the pendants that hung upon it.

“What’s the rush?” she asked, eyes wide and unblinking, voice softening as she spoke.

Searching her face for confirmation, his brow wrinkled. Was she asking him to stay? Did she want more?

Holding his gaze, she rolled quietly onto her back, running her fingers down his chest and past his waist, brushing them against his already hardening length as he bit back a gasp. Her touch was as potent as he remembered and all the more exhilarating without the dulling cloak of alcohol. 

Her gentle hand moved to the linen sheet that covered her, she hooked her thumb into its edge, slowly drawing it lower until it lay pooled about her hips.

Though she moved with purpose, he saw a hint of trepidation in the way her chin trembled slightly and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He lifted his hand, fingers tentatively grazing her side, her hip lifting at the touch.

At this small encouragement he reached forward to lean over her. His eyes never left hers while his hand continued its path over her waist and then up to the curve of her breast. Emma’s eyes fluttered as he palmed the firm flesh; his fingers toying with a nipple as he dropped his forehead to hers.

“Gods you are beautiful.”

She let out a small, breathy gasp, tilting her chin until their mouths met and pulling him into another, even hungrier kiss - all lips and teeth and tongue.

Rolling up her hips, she wrapped her hands around his back, gently easily him onto top of her.

Her fingers found their way back into his hair, as he settled his body in the warm embrace of her hips. Long legs wrapped around him, pressing his growing erection against her belly.

The desire was rising quicker than a tidal wave. He couldn’t halt its advance, even if he had wanted to. But all Killian wanted in that moment was to bury himself inside her again, to hear her soft whimpers of pleasure and his name caressed once more by those lush pink lips.

She guided his head to her chest. He weighted his body on his maimed forearm, working his mouth down her neck to her breathless encouragement, quickly finding her stiffening nipple with his tongue.

“Oh-“ she moaned, his stomach tightening at the sound of her satisfaction, leaning into her with lustier determination, slipping his hands between her legs until she gasped when he reached her wetness.

Slick and hot and so inviting, he bit back a moan and toyed at her flesh with his teeth as he slid against her clit, circling it and making her grind her hips harder against him until his fingers slipped inside.

Slowly, he slid his tongue upwards across her chest and along her neck. She tasted like salt. Her fingernails were scraping into his back, but he couldn’t feel any pain.

All that mattered was her.

§

* * *

 When his fingers plunged inside her she wanted to cry out. Still feeling somewhat sore and used, the intrusion had jarred her for a second, but quickly his scissoring fingers had her babbling unintelligible words as he touched parts of her she hadn’t even known existed.

His hardness was pressing into her stomach. Oh, she wanted him again. Craved to feel him inside of her, at least one more time.

“Killian,” she murmured against his hair when his mouth was tracing the fine collar bones at the base of her neck.

Then all of a sudden, he was working his way back down her body, brushing his lips across her in sweeping motions. Emma looked down, he was leaning back on his heels, a devilish smile on his face.

She knew what he was going to do. And God she wanted it, but she also felt a flush of embarrassment and tugged on his hair.

“Killian,” she whined, “I- I’ve never-“

“Shh,” he replied, pressing kisses onto her navel before lowering his head to her cunt.

Hot and soft and hard and cool. It was all at once. He started slowly, spreading her lips with his fingers, circling her clit with his tongue.

Bright flashes crossed her eyes. She tugged on his hair.

Renewing his attentions with more fervor, when a finger slid inside her she felt broken.

He briefly lifted his head. “That’s it love, relax. Enjoy the feeling.”

How had she never experienced this? No man had ever attended to her in this way - had read her responses and devoted such care to how she felt and ensuring her pleasure.

The crushing pressure in her stomach quickly ballooned. She pressed her thighs against his head.

“I can’t-“

There wasn’t time to finish her words. The quickening was upon her in an instant. Her stomach arching off the bed as the strong aftershocks rode through her.

It was in a haze that she saw his face above her. Smiling. Licking his lips. She pressed a palm against her face, blushing at the intimacy they had just shared.

“Look at me,” he whispered, peeling away her hand.

Her breath caught when she saw how intensely he was staring at her. So earnest and open and wanting that she bit back a shiver.

She pursed her lips, too scared to look away. His hand slid deliberately up her thigh, cupping her ass and lifting it before easing her legs around his waist.

A kiss brushed her cheek. His length was hot and burning at the apex of her hip. She shifted awkwardly, unsure what he was planning.

§

* * *

Her face was a delight. Pinkish skin and wide eyes - almost innocent, but not at the same time. He nudged her nose with his, reaching for a pillow as they kissed once more. Gently he slid it under her waist, angling her hips upward.

His heartbeat had become a soaring drum in his chest, almost at crescendo. With the briefest of moments, he slowly eased inside of her. Her lips formed an ‘O’ but no sound escaped them. Her eyes darted between his, her teeth were chattering lightly against each other.

As he entered her, he felt complete. An overwhelming surge of emotion rushing through him, rendering him almost numb.

Deeply he settled. She tightened her legs, crossing her ankles. Her eyes closed.

Slowly he started to rock into her, brushing his hand over her face, leaning down so they were cheek to cheek.

Just getting lost in her.

Getting lost in one another.

§

* * *

 It was past noon when they roused the second time. She could tell because the bright sunshine was slipping through the gaps in the badly fitted shutters over the window.

More soft kisses and caresses had passed, until he finally sighed and sat up, reaching down onto the floor for his shirt.

He examined the stained garment, quickly tossing it to the side as he stood. “I’ll admit love, I was a little surprised,”

“At what?” she asked, a little surprised, as she pulled the sheet up around her chest.

“That you were not - untouched.”

She looked up and quickly coyly dipped her eyes. He was so unabashedly naked. Never had a man paraded himself as such in her presence.

Stuttering a little, she replied, “I’m five and twenty, Killian - do you expect a woman to live as a nun?”

The laugh he let out was a little jarring, “No - but you are a princess and…” his voice trailed off.

“I was never a very good princess,” she admitted, sitting straighter while he began to tug on his trousers.

“A fact which I will forever be thankful for.” Fastening the buttons that closed them, he nonchalantly crossed the few steps back to the bed, sinking to sit beside her and pressing a kiss on her bare shoulder. “May I say, that you seem to make a much better pirate in any case.”

Emma let out a peal of laughter. “A princess pirate? Oh, could you imagine what they would say-”

She caught her laughter then she saw his face drop. Did he think she was mocking him?

“I just meant that-“

“That a pirate can never be part of ‘good’ society. I know this love, why do you think I’ve spent the last ten or so years holed up on a ship with a bunch of filthy sailors? We make our choices in life and they define the path it will take.”

His whole body stiffened and he stood again, gathering up his boots and his coat.

She felt a twinge of regret. Did he think she thought ill of him? Thought so little of his station that she was mocking him?

“Killian…” she began.

“Yes?” he clipped, turning his head quickly to her.

Desperately searching for something to ease the sting of her words, she blurted out, “You were right.”

“About what?” he inquired with an arched brow.

“I was jealous,” she whispered, her eyes studying the woven pattern of the sheet as she frowned, “Of  Veronica . I was jealous of how she knew you.”

She heard him drop the items he was holding and the creaking of the floorboards as he walked back to her again.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she smiled, her lashes fluttering as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I felt it here,” she continued, pressing her hand to her belly.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him, the sheet sliding away as she stood.

“Then I must admit, when I saw you with Blackbeard, I too was envious. Of the way you touched him and kissed him. I wanted to force you from his arms and hurry you away. I didn’t know my own self till I saw you there, in front of me. A woman, Emma.”

She let him cradle her in his arms, her cheek falling against the soft hair of his chest.

“What does this mean,” she mumbled against him.

It took a few seconds for him to respond. He seemed to be hesitating.

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“Me neither,” she lied.

Because as she held him close, she knew what it was. Or at least, she knew enough that the quickening of her heart when they touched and the lurching in her stomach when he looked at her could only mean one thing.

She was falling in love with this pirate.

After a minute or so, he released her, picking up the sheet and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“I think we have other matters to attend to today.”

Emma nodded. “Yes, tonight is the night. You will have your revenge and I-“ She swallowed, “My mother’s freedom.”

“Indeed. Rest, bathe - the time is at your leisure while I undertake some business in town today. Meet me at sundown, as before.”

“Sundown,” she echoed, biting her lip as she wanted to say more but knew not what, as he quietly left the room.

_**A/N - As always, your reviews, comments, favourites, follows, messages... They all mean the world to me. Thank you, and thank you for reading.** _


	21. Grey Skies

At some point thick, grey clouds had rolled over the port, bringing with them an angry rainstorm and a powerful wind which shook the shutters over the windows and rattled the clay tiles on the roof.  Emma stirred restlessly in the room, unable to settle.

After he had left, she had sat some time in a kind of daze - her skin felt somewhat done and her body ached deliciously. Her skin still tingled from his touch and the sensation of him making love to her - for that's what it had been - was one she replayed over repeatedly in her mind.

Once she had roused herself from her stupor, she called the maid to bring her a bath where she luxuriated in the warm, scented water for a period  too long to count: until the pads of her fingertips had become swollen and her skin was flushed  scarlet from the heat.

She had wrapped her damp body in a soft, thick bath sheet, and sat on the stool by the dressing table. There, she patted the moisture from her hair, teasing it into twists and pinning it against her head to leave a curl once it dried.

Quietly she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips were still swollen from his relentless kisses. The pale skin of her neck still bore witness to the action of his scruff brushing against it: it burned slightly, a painful sensation but one that thrilled her all the same. On the tops of her thighs, a few small, circular bruises began to appear where his fingers and hook had held her tight - tiny tokens of that night.

Perhaps she should have dressed and walked about the town - it certainly would have made time pass more quickly. But if she left the room, then everything would be real again. The spell would be broken. The night before would be relegated to an indistinct memory.

So instead, she paced about , slowly dressing  while drinking a few  goblets of wine to steel her nerves.

§

* * *

It hadn't taken him long to make the decision.

After dressing in fresh clothes, he had set off into town, meeting with trusted contacts who would be sure to keep his confidence - settling a few debts, engaging some merchants to cater supplies to the ship once his vengeance was settled.

Yet throughout all of this, all he could think of was her. The memory of their night together was still so fresh and vivid in his mind, he kept reliving the sensations - as if he were to stop, they would evaporate from his mind. It was not just her body and sweet taste that lingered, but her soulful eyes and the way she said his name…

He had not made but three steps from the tavern when he was resolved to release her from their contract.

Yes, the thought of seeing her in that man's arms again made his stomach turn. But greater than that was the very real fear that further  travels on this dangerous path would lead to her becoming injured - or worse.

He made it back to their lodgings as evening fell. The darkness came quickly; the cloud covered sky had let but little light penetrate its tumbling depths that afternoon, and as the sun slipped below the horizon a hazy calm had fallen over the town: the calm before the inhabitants of the night crawled from their beds and claimed the cobbled streets as their own.

Entering the tavern, he was surprised to find her  sitting at a small table by the bar, nursing what looked like a goblet of wine. The cloak around her shoulders enveloped her body, pooling at her feet on the floor and making her seem smaller - and weaker - than he knew her to truly be.

"Milady," he addressed her, dipping into a small bow when she lifted her head and saw him.

"Good evening," she replied, with a nod of her head, pushing a pewter goblet towards him. "A drink before we leave?"

Nodding his agreement, he sat, swinging the tails of his coat over the bench before taking the cup - his fingers briefly brushing against hers, a small  sigh escaping her lips.

The room was dark. The blanket of clouds blocked out any light from the moon that may have eked in through the dusty windows. The feeble fire that cackled and hissed was almost on the other side of the room - their table was set in shadow, her features simply lit from what little illumination the small candles around them gave. Her regal beauty was undeniable. He felt so foolish that he had ever been taken in by her weak disguise.

After a drink of the lukewarm wine, he dampened his lips with his tongue.

"I think-," he coughed, clearing his throat and began again, "Emma, I… I've been thinking. I do not think it is wise to continue with this line of action."

"Why?" she quickly asked, arching up her neck, her mouth falling into a puzzled expression.

He caught his breath, as if to reply. Pressing his brows together, he just looked at her for a moment. Could she see? Could she tell? Did she see what he was trying so little to hide?

With a sigh, he shifted his hook from his knee to the table, absentmindedly rubbing it over the aged and scarred wood. "It's not safe. I've not been thinking straight."

"But-" she began.

"Our agreement is null and void. I will find Blackbeard  on my own ."

She silently sipped her wine. He daren't look up, instead he toyed with his rings, running his thumb over the smooth jewels and decorated silver.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.

He wanted to shout a thousand and one reasons, to wrap his hand around hers and squeeze it tight, to drop the facade of Captain Hook and explain to her-

"Because… b ecause it is wrong of me to let you do this - to place you in danger." Still avoiding her gaze, he clicked his teeth together while his foot began to tap on the floor.

"You're lying."

Tilting his head, he saw she was staring at him. "Why would I lie?" was his flippant reply, engaging her with his best disinterested look. She didn't flinch, but she scrunched her brow.

"My mother…"

"I will release her as soon as we return to the ship."

She seemed to let the words sink in for a few seconds. "I still want to do it," she told him quietly.

"I've said I will release your mother-"

"That's not why," she snapped, swiftly circling her fingers around his wrist until his skin pinched.

"Then-"

"I honor my deals,  C aptain."

Killian let out a huffed breath, running his tongue along his bottom lip, "And I have no way to convince you otherwise?"

"No. My mind is settled."

With her _jaw firmly set_ and a tight grip on his hand he could tell instantly that she was not to be dissuaded. It was as if he could see into her mind and feel her determination. An uneasy acceptance came over him and he finished his wine in one, long draw.

"Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we should be on our way." He tried to make his voice sound light and unconcerned, but he saw the flicker of recognition in her eye that told him it was useless.

Whatever remained unsaid, she understood in some way. As they left, the urge to pull her aside, to hold her, to beg her to stay here became intolerable.

But somehow his damn, stupid pride and fear of the unknown won out. So he placed a soft hand on her back and led her into the cool night.

 §

* * *

 

It was colder than she had expected. The gown she had chosen to  wear was thinner than the others; a few layers of deep green muslin with short puffed sleeves and a deep, square neckline.

They walked in silence. His footsteps were quietly punctuated by the sound of his sword tapping  against his boots. She bit back the urge to shiver, gritting her teeth and wrapping her arms around her waist.

On a few occasions, she had thought he was going to say something. His pace had slowed down until they were walking in step. He had rubbed his palm against his thigh and shot her furtive glances.

Finally, she tired of his indecision. Stopping on a quiet street, she turned and faced him.

"What?"

He looked at her, wide eyed, and shook his head. "What?"

"You want to say something. Spit it out."

He sighed and flicked  his gaze up to the darkened sky. "Why would you think that?" he asked, pursing his lips and refusing to look at her.

A bubble of anger swelled in her stomach. "Fine, if that's how you want to play this-"

Quickly turning, she brushed away a wave of disappointment and  she scolded herself for the sudden urge to cry. Why should she care what he did or said? So they had had one night together. So she felt something for him - he clearly did not, or could not, reciprocate these feelings. Perhaps he was incapable.

"Emma," he said firmly, darting around to block her way.

"What?" she snapped, the sudden anger rising within her, crumpling her brow, hot tears forming at her eyes.

"Darling-" he whispered, learning into her, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek until her eyelids fluttered closed and a single tear slipped out. Her lips opened to speak - "Shhhh," he murmured, pressing his own cool lips against hers in a  chaste kiss. "I'm sorry," he sighed against her cheek.

For a moment, words were lost to her. She met his eyes with her own, even in the blackness of the night they were the  color  of the ocean, and in a second she was swimming within them. She saw it, deep in those depths, that reflection of her own heart in him. Holding her breath, she waited for his declaration, for him to pull her close and swear his love.  Then they could tumble back to the tavern and make love until dawn; all thoughts of revenge superseded by the burgeoning of new love .

The words seemed so close to falling from his mouth. He held her shoulders firm, the heat of his hand and body helping push back a little of the chill. He licked his lips, his breath shaking-

"Killian-" she whispered.

"Be careful," he finally said. She dropped her eyes, disappointment slowly trickled through her like cool water, dampening her  fervor and causing her to stumble back. She was wrong. He didn't care, not in the way she did.

"I'm perfectly able of taking care of myself, Captain."

He stiffened at the word 'Captain'. She turned her head, his grip loosened and she stepped further away - a physical distance to match the growing chasm between them that seemed to widen with each passing second.

"Of course," he nodded stiffly, looking over her shoulder, his face serious and severe. "Shall we?" he offered, reaching out his hand.

Not replying, she turned once more and hurried on.

 §

* * *

 

They slipped inside but did not speak again. Killian darted off to the same corner where he had sat the night before. Emma released the clasp on her cloak and gathered it in her arms. She quickly looked around, he was not there yet.

A barmaid with a two flagons of ale in each hand slipped by;  Emma whispered into her ear, her order accepted with a nod, before she wandered over to Blackbeard's section of the bar. The tables were laid out much as they were the night before, his heavy raised chair dominating the area.

Her heart was beginning to race. The order of  fine and ale reached the table quickly and she slipped a few coins from her purse to the lass.

_Fine?_

Although she couldn't see him, she knew Killian was watching her intently. It was like a burning heat was  focused on her face. She bristled under the warmth, daring briefly to look in his direction. He had snuffed out the candle on his table. All she could make out were the darkened shape of face and the barest outline of his form. Still, it comforted her somewhat, knowing he was there.

Even if his duty to her was merely  honor bound, even if she had seen more in his eyes and his actions than was truly there: even still, his presence gave her strength as her nervousness rose.

Patiently she sat waiting.

 §

* * *

 

The bottle of rum couldn't have  come fast enough .

Sitting down, he had moistened his fingers and killed the flame of the candle.

He grabbed the bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth, ignoring the small, pewter glass that had accompanied it, instead pouring a large mouthful straight down his throat. It did little to calm his stomach, in fact, as he looked across the room, the uncomfortable tightness merely grew stronger and more potent.

Clearly, she was nervous. She fidgeted in her seat, toying with  the goblet in her hand, taking quick little sips as her eyes roamed the room. All about, the men were watching her, their eyes transfixed by her incandescent beauty. Illuminated by the glow  of the myriad  candles and lanterns, her skin glowed. The emerald green of her dress contrasted sweetly with the gold of her hair and her rose red lips.

Clenching his fist, he wanted to kick himself. Earlier, in the street, she had opened up to him. He had been given the chance to tell her how she made him feel and admit his own weakness and how much  last night had meant… But instead he had cowered away and hid beneath the facade of a  single-minded  pirate, one for  who love was but a fleeting sensation of the night and honor was the only true calling. And now, he thought, all was lost.

He saw her look his way. He sank back further into his seat, dipping his head in shame.

He made a silent prayer that all would turn out well and took hold of the bottle once more, washing away his fears with the tart taste of rum.

§ 

* * *

 

Running her toe nervously along the floor, a panic gripped her.

_Where was he?_

Surely he would be here. The ship was still in the docks, she had seen  its distinctive dark sails as they had walked to the tavern.

Then all of a sudden, she felt arms grab her from behind. Rough hands clawed at her, she fought back kicking her legs out and twisting her body. But it was futile. A heavy, musty smelling blanket quickly covered her body. And then, darkness…

 §

* * *

 

The pleasant buzz of liquor had calmed his stomach. He relaxed a little, stretching out his legs and laying his hook on the table.

Soon, he thought. He must be here soon.

The thought was broken by the sound of shuffling feet. He turned to look and was met with a fist hitting his face. Dazed, he reached for his sword, but he wasn't quick enough. Something heavy was crashed against his head, everything became hazy and then finally, black.


	22. A Different Kind of Ache

_**A/N- Things are going to get a little tough for our dear Captain (just a little warning).** _   


Everything was black. 

It was an almost velvety black, with a tangible thickness to it, in the way it wrapped around her body - an invisible blanket of suffocating nothingness. There was not even the barest hint of light to cast a shadow or provide some depth to her surroundings. No, just black: endless, endless black. 

Her dawning consciousness was a slowly evolving situation. Everything was awry. Was it still night or had morning arrived? Her head span; for a brief period she wasn’t even sure which way was up and which way was down…

Eventually, the dull in ache in her skull settled and the accompanying disconcerting nausea faded into insignificance. All that remained was an eerie kind of silence.

The space was quiet enough that she could hear her own breathing clearly. She could feel the gentle bobbing of a ship docked in port; but what ship?

She shuffled to her feet and stretched out her arms, groping in the darkness, trying to make sense of her prison. The space was about five square feet; a rough wooden floor and walls. On one wall she could make out the outline of a door and a small keyhole at its mid height. She tried looking through it but either the keyhole had been covered or the space behind it was dark too.

There was nothing else to do then, but to wait. Gathering up her legs, she wrapped her arms around them and laid her back against the wall opposite the door, sad resignation to an unknown fate overcoming her as she wondered where Killian was.

§

* * *

 

The ropes that had been used to immobilize him against the chair had been pulled so tight that his arms and legs were beginning to feel the first tingles of numbness. He had come to as the thick strands had been twisted into heavy knots at his knees and elbows; biting back the urge to groan in response, instead feigning unconsciousness as he quickly tried to assess the situation he found himself in.

It had taken mere seconds to realize that he was on board a ship. The unmistakable, damp odor of a vessel’s timbers and the silent ebb and flow from a dock’s half tide were as familiar to him as the hairs on the back of his hand. His head was still covered by some kind of rough-hewn sack and when he ran his tongue over his lip he could taste the tang of blood where he had been hit in the face. A small amount of light permeated the open weave of his hood, telling him it was daylight already, though the exact time or day was a mystery.

Suddenly he thought of her. He had been overpowered so quickly he had not had time to cry out or warn Emma-

Perhaps she escaped; perhaps it was only he who had been the target of these actions.

Perhaps.

His left hand was strangely light, his brace was still in place but his hook had been removed.

There was a shuffling of feet and the sound of a few hushed words before the sack was roughly tugged from his head.

“Hook.”

The leering face of his rival captain was mere inches away - his expression gleeful and menacing, his voice hanging on the final consonant and drawing it out into a leering smile.

Although it had been many years since they had been face to face, his features were almost the same, merely a little worn with age. Same dark, soulless eyes peered from the hollows below his brow and thin downturned lips danced beneath his narrow pointed nose, whose point lifted upwards when he smiled.

It was a face he had seen every day for nigh on five years and not one he would easily forget.

“Edward, mate,” Killian smiled in reply, “Why so formal? Call me Killian.”

The deep, rumbling laugh that rose from Blackbeard’s belly reverberated around the small cabin. He paused only to take another breath before continuing, only breaking when he began to cough, slapping his hand off his thigh and shaking his head. “Oh, Killian, you know, I’ve missed you?

Killian smirked involuntarily, arching up his brow as Blackbeard pulled up a stool so they were eye to eye. “Even when you are patently outnumbered and in dire straits, you pull out these little one liners. Touché.”

“Well Eddie, you know me, never one to despair at a hopeless situation.”

“Indeed,” nodded Blackbeard, crossing his leather clad legs. “In fact, it pains me to have to kill you. We do go back a long way, but I feel without a choice. Since I gather you were trying to kill me and all.”

“Like you had no choice but to kill my brother?” Killian snapped, snarling his lip as he spoke.

Reaching up to scratch his chin, the older man leaned closer, “Your brother was a fool and deserved what came to him. You tangle with Edward Teach and you don’t live to tell the tale.”

“My brother did nothing to you,” Killian growled, his body growing hot with anger, “He protected you! If it wasn’t for him you would have died on the Jolly when Captain Grady ordered you to walk the plank.”

“Your brother was weak. He had a weak man’s heart and soul - too easily swayed by a sad story or a tear or two.” He kicked away the stool and started to pace the room. 

“Yet he was still more a man than you will ever be-“

“What!” Blackbeard cried, diving forward to grasp his hand around Killian’s throat, pressing each digit tight until Killian was gasping for breath. “Say that again!” he demanded, Killian’s mouth opened and closed as he fought against him, the blood pounding heavily in his ears as darkness began to encroach his vision. 

But suddenly the hand loosened as quickly as it had tightened and Blackbeard stumbled away. 

“Did I hit a nerve?” Killian laughed, spluttering slightly as he caught his breath.

Blackbeard peered at him across the room, his dark hair pooling around his shoulders as his mouth rose in a sinister smile. “You overestimate your effect on me. But please do not underestimate the power I have to make you suffer intensely.”

Killian did not doubt that he had some nefarious torture planned for him. He would worry about that later, now he had one burning question on his mind. “Why did you kill him?”

“I told you. He was weak. He interfered in a debt owed to me and he suffered the consequences. I’m surprised it’s taken this long for you work it out. Getting a little slow in your old age, Jones?”

“Hardly,” Killian hissed.

So Liam had died trying to protect someone. His mind went back to Queen Snow’s words - Blackbeard must have found out about Liam’s offer of passage on the Jolly and made him pay the ultimate price.

It was little solace, but he doubted the other pirate would be forthcoming with any more details.

The dull ache of his brother’s passing was suddenly superseded by a fresher, newer pain. A clinging twinge of loss, of hopelessness, as his thoughts turned to her. He dropped his head in a somewhat submissive gesture. Quietly he asked, “Where is she?”

“The wench?” Blackbeard replied haughtily.

Killian flinched at the description of the princess - of Emma - as anything less than a lady. But he knew the battles to pick and nodded his agreement.

“Why on board of course. Quite a tasty little strumpet, isn’t she? When I’ve had my fill with her I’d say I’d give her a round or two with the lads - they’ll see to her nice and proper.”

His heart plunged, sinking below him as cold fear ran down his spine. Her fears were all coming true - defiled by pirates, just as she had said. And it was his fault. He had exposed her to this danger.

All his muscles tensed. From a few feet away, Blackbeard observed him coolly, his head cocked to one side and a hand on his hip. “She means something to you,” he muttered, pulling closer, sinking to his knee so they were again eye to eye.

Killian didn’t answer, instead he squared his jaw and lifted his chin.

“Your silence speaks volumes. Well then, perhaps it may be more effective to bring her in here, then you can watch as I fuck her in every hole and then cast her down to the whims of my more imaginative crew.”

“Don’t you dare!” Killian cried, pushing his weight forward and forcing the chair to tilt and wobble on its front legs.

“I think I have hit a raw nerve. Tut tut, lad - you know better than to get attached to some whore.”

“She’s no whore,” Killian growled, tugging on the ropes that bound him.

“No?”

Her only hope was if he revealed her secret. He knew it. It was the only real chance that she would be spared the agony of defilement and ruination. He had no choice.

“She’s royalty,” Killian whispered as he dropped his head again, letting his arms hand limply behind him.

“What?” spat the other pirate, crooking a calloused finger under his chin and tugging it upwards.

“She’s a princess. Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest, to be precise.”

“A princess?” he roared, tutting as he shook his head, “Bollocks.”

Killian caught his gaze and Blackbeard stopped. The intense honesty in his gaze was instantly recognized. “You’re telling the truth. Princess Emma - daughter of Snow White?” Killian nodded, Blackbeard chuckled in return, shaking his head, “My, my, what a small world.”

“Aye. And she’s worth a damn sight more to you intact.”

Blackbeard rolled up onto his heels and stood. “Hmm,” he mused, resting his hand on the scabbard. Killian could practically see the visions of gold and riches that could be garnered from a ransom forming in the other man’s head. “This is interesting information.”

And without saying and more, he turned and opened a small hidden door behind him, leaving Killian alone with his thoughts and fears.

§

* * *

 

The creak of a door roused her once more: somehow she’d fallen asleep sat up against the wall. All her bones ached. Everything was still dark, but a tiny crack of half-light filtered into the room. There was a sound of shuffling feet and then the scraping of metal against wood before the door slammed shut once more.

“Who goes there?” she whispered, her voice shaking, fear rippling through her.

“Emma?”

She started at the sound of her voice and at the familiar accent that spoke it.

“Dicken?”

The scratch of a match and the hiss of an igniting flame came from across the room, then she saw a candle lit and held out to her. Slowly the golden lit face of Dicken was clearly visibly. Without thinking she launched herself into the old man’s arms, hugging him tight.

“Lass, had yer horses, let an ol’ man catch ‘is breath.”

She sat back, watching as he dropped a little candle wax onto the floor, before planting the candle firmly in it, “Always carry a candle ’n’ matches - never know when it may come in ‘andy.”

“Oh Dicken, I’ve never been so happy to see someone in all my life! Where are we? What has happened? Where it the Jolly-“ the questions spilled forth rapidly. Dicken was smiling lightly, now she looked closer she could see a cut running down the left side of his face from his eyebrow to his chin.

“Eat and I’ll talk,” he replied, pulling over one of the pewter plates that had been deposited with him - each furnished with a hard chunk of bread and a few meagre slices of salted beef.

Emma nodded her agreement as Dicken settled in the space opposite her, letting out an aching sigh as he stretched his limbs.

“Twas two nights ago. I were on watch. All were quiet, much as any other night, a few men were dozing on deck, the rest down in the ‘old.” He paused to take a bit of the stringy, salty meat. “All a sudden, there were on the deck. Dozens of ‘em - swords in hand, muskets aside ‘em. I rang the bell a’ fast as a’ could. ‘Twere too late for the men on deck.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “The lads below, most of ‘em seemed to get away - we’d left the two tenders moored aside the ship and the rest dove in a swan away. But there were an awful lot o’ blood,” he added silently.

“Oh, Dicken… Why did they spare you?”

He shrugged. “I’m an old man, not much of a threat. I surrendered - too old to swim in those currents love. I may be an ol’ fool, but I’m not stupid.”

“No you’re not,” she smiled. Sudden realization dawned, “Blackbeard,” she whispered.

“Aye. ‘e were there. Flouncing about the deck as if he owned it. That bastard aint worth one plank of the Jolly for all ‘e done for ‘er.”

“What do you mean?”

“D’you not know?”

Emma shook her head and Dicken sighed. “Course not, why would ye? Afore he ‘ad ‘is own ship, he were a member of the Jolly’s crew. First mate was he, just around the time the Jones brothers joined us.”

“What happened?”

“Mutiny. Well, of a sort.”

“It failed?”

“Turns out ‘e was not as popular as he thought. Captain Grady put the death on ‘im, but the slimy bastard escaped. That was when Liam, God bless ‘is soul, became first mate. No one was sad to see the back of old Edward ‘Blackbeard’  Teach.”

“And so it call comes full circle,” she murmured. The Jolly, Killian and Liam and revenge and Blackbeard and somewhere in all this mess her mother-

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

There was a pause. “And so we should be,” Dicken sighed, not attempting to hide the despair of the situation. Instead joining her in a slightly numb moment to reflect and prepare.

§

* * *

 

When Blackbeard returned he had stripped off his silk jacket and his sword was missing from his belt. Behind him walked a heavy set crewman with a large, leather bound box.

The crewman placed the box on the floor, opening it and pulling out a set of leg and arm irons. Picking them up, he walked over to Killian and fixed the metal restraints to his legs, then undoing the ropes, pulling his arms forwards into the other set of shackles, just managing to fasten it over his brace.

“Off with the shirt, Langley, I want a clean shot.”

Roughly he was pulled to his feet by the crewman’s strong hands. The ripping sound of the soft linen rang through the room. Quickly his shirt was in shreds around his waist.

“Better,” he heard Blackbeard smile. “Now, the cat o’nine tails.”

Killian flinched. He knew the pain that the seemingly innocuous weapon could inflict with its dozen or so strands of knotted leather - he had used them often enough himself on wayward crew.

“So that’s it then? A whipping? Then what - run me thought with your sword and toss me to the sharks?”

Blackbeard’s rumbling laugh was more evil than ever. “Not quite, lad. This is just the warm up. I have something altogether more fitting planned for you. This is purely for fun.”

Langley grabbed his shoulders and turned his back to the other pirate. He pushed him to his knees and made him rest his forearms on the chair where he had sat. Holding out a piece of rope, he forced it between Killian’s teeth, “Bite,” he ordered, “Don’t want you swallowin’ your tongue before the captain is done with you.”

Steeling himself, Killian took the offered gap, clamping down his teeth just as the he heard the swift crack of the whip.

§

* * *

 

“Shh-“

She held out her hand and Dicken stopped talking.

“What was that?”

Dicken tilted his head and they both were quiet for a second. There it was again. A scream - one of pain and agony and misery. Unmistakable.

“Some poor soul gettin’ the tails I’d say.”

Emma swallowed fixed her eyes on the flickered flame of the half melted candle. It danced to the rhythm of her breathing. She tried to hold her breath to listen more clearly to the sounds.

Another cry. Then the crack of leather and an agonized scream.

“Who d’you think-“

She stopped when she saw how he looked away.

“Is it him?” she quietly asked.

“It’s hard to say-“

“ _Dicken_ ,” she pressed.

“Aye I’d say so,” he relented, his shoulders curving forward with his admission, “Cannot think of another it would be.”

And as she listed to the pained cries as they vibrated around her, she choked back a sob. In that moment, she would have given anything to ease his pain. Her physical aches had gone, replaced by something more abstract and hard to name. It was a dull pain inside her. A one that made her feel sick and helpless and never before had she wanted something more than to end his agony.

It was a different kind of ache, but potent all the same.


	23. No Hope?

He wasn’t sure how many lashes it had taken until he lapsed into unconsciousness: it could have been ten or perhaps even a hundred. Many years ago, he had learned the only way to survive such physical pain was to detach from the experience. So as much as he had heard himself cry out in pain and felt the splitting of his skin, followed by the trickling of hot blood down his back, his mind had been elsewhere.

 

The pain had taken him to another place - another life , even. A place with golden sunshine and fresh air. Lying on a soft bed, his hand tangled in her hair, her face lain against his chest, a gentle sigh of contentment falling from his lips, alongside her name: _Emma_ …

 

§

* * *

 

 

Every crack of the whip, every cry, every groan, had torn through her soul. She was never one to handle suffering lightly. As a child she had begged for the forgiveness of the petty criminals who were placed in the stocks in the marketplace - her father always giving into her, sending the unfortunate ones on their way with a few coins and a stern warning.

 

When the sounds had faded away,  she and Dicken  had sat awhile, both soaking in the sea of sadness that had filled the small cell. “Is he-“

 

The old man shook his head, his features lit with an orange glow from the candlelight. “No lass, would take more than that to kill a man such as Cap’n Jones.”

 

Letting out a sigh of relief, her shoulders dropped. Suddenly, a thought rose in her mind-

 

“Dicken, what happened to my mother?”

 

“Aye, wonder’d when you’d ask of her.” He paused for a brief second and then met her eyes - “Truth is lass, I don’t rightly know. No doubt if sh’ were taken prisoner, sh’ would be ‘ere. I can only guess-“

 

“She escaped,” Emma finished, feeling relief sink through her. Without cause or reassurance she knew it was true. Her mother, her wonderful, resourceful mother who had lived alone all these years - if anyone could have escaped it would have been her. As much as the bitter sting of abandonment still laced through her, every moment that they were back in each other ’s lives was adding a further layer of familial love that she had missed so much.

 

“I’d say so,” Dicken replied with hesitation. “Now lass, it mus’ be late. Though ought t’ sleep, save thy strength. Might not know if one will need it soon.”

 

As the sailor spoke, tiredness ripped through her body. The unconsciousness of earlier not having sated her body’s need to rest. Wordlessly she slipped down onto the floor, making a pillow out of her arms, barely registering when the candle was quietly blown out.

 

§

* * *

 

 

When she awoke, she was surprised to find herself no longer on the floor of a filthy cell, but instead in what she presumed to be the ship’s state room. The walls were made of a deeply stained lacquered teak, with ornate carving reaching into the ceiling timbers. A long table, adorned with fresh fruits and meats was stretched out in front of her. From above hung a chandelier of innumerable candles that glittered and shone amidst the darkness.

 

She tried to move, but her wrists and ankles had been bound to the arms and legs of the chair on which she sat. There was a nauseous pain in her belly. It occurred to her that she had been drugged earlier - _cowards_ she seethed as she dug her hands into the curved edge of the wood.

 

“Ah, so you are awake.”

 

The gravelly, thick voice of Blackbeard was  unmistakable . There was a creak of hinges as a door closed behind her, before the nefarious captain approached.

 

“Wine?” he said, with a loaded smile and a swift gesture of his hand to the flagon on the table. Instead of replying, she tilted away her head, hearing him laugh lightly at her response. “Ah, still a little shy are we? I do  apologize for the sleeping draught, it was the only way I could assure the safety of such _valuable_ cargo.”

 

Her ears pricked up at his words. She caught his eye as he set aside two pewter goblets and poured out the claret  colored  wine.

 

“Let’s drink. To having a royal princess as guest on The Bounty.”

 

So he knew. Pursing her lips she looked down at her lap, refusing to engage him in whatever little game he was trying to play.

 

“Oh, my manners! How can I allow royalty to be bound as such!”

 

With a flounce in his step, he bounded forward, tugging a small dagger from his waist and slicing through the ropes at her wrists. “Much better,” he growled, before holding the glinting silver weapon up to her eyes, “No stupid moves your highness - do not think I won't slit your throat if provoked.”

 

The sincerity in his voice was enough to make Emma start and sit up a little in her chair.

 

“Now drink,” he ordered. Picking up the glass, she gazed at its contents, sniffing it, trying to discern whether it held another draught, or worse. “It’s safe,” Blackbeard drawled, his tone almost annoyed as he sat opposite her, six feet down the table, before stretching out, his boots resting on a vacant chair. Slowly, she took a sip. She had to admit it was delicious - the best wine she had tasted in a long time, it slipped down her throat as sweet as honey, warming her belly and lingering on her tongue.

 

“There - that wasn't so hard , was it?”

 

Placing the cup down, she squared her shoulders and met his dark gaze, “So you know who I am, what are you to do with me?”

 

“What do you think?” he leered, leaning over the table, reaching forward and making her cower back in her seat, only to laugh when he selected a ripe plum from a gilded bowl, quickly bringing it to his mouth and sinking his teeth into the juicy flesh.

 

“I’d say as a pirate, your main concern is treasure. Therefore, you plan to ransom me.”

 

“Well I’m glad to see all those expensive tutors paid dividends,” he mocked, kicking his feet off the chair and walking over to her again. He bit again into the plum, the fluid inside rolling down his chin from those lips she had let him kiss her with. A wave of revulsion ripped through her as he came close. “Although I am so incredibly tempted to see what lies beneath these pretty layers,” his hand came down to the fastening of her corset. With a tug, he pulled on the bow that closed it, the corset edging open as the ribbons stretched apart. “Oh, love…” He smiled greedily down at her, his eyes fixed on her cleavage, his panting breaths filling her with disgust.

 

“You touch me,” she whispered, “And you better know I will kill myself before you can get a penny.”

 

“Oh, feisty one , aren’t we?” He stayed close enough so she could feel his breath on her face. She pressed her eyelids closed. He moved back away. When she looked again he was perched on a small desk to the right of the table, his goblet back in hand. Quickly she re-tied the ribbon and eased her quaking breaths.

 

Abruptly she felt the need to ask him about Killian. “Where is Ki- Hook-“

 

“Alive. For now,” he replied coyly, sipping his wine, watching her as an animal observes its prey.

 

“For now?” she asked, feigning as much disinterest as she could, but feeling she was failing.

 

Blackbeard raised his mouth in a half smile, “Oh lass, you haven’t gone and fallen for that old cad , have you?”

 

Stiffening once more in her chair, she swallowed heavily, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.

 

“Ah, so you have. Oh, you poor little girl. Did they never warn you about falling for a pirate?”

 

Her cheeks flushed and her hands clenched once more.

 

“Too many romance novels, that’s the problem. Filling lasses heads with romantic ideas about swashbuckling pirates, when really, all a captain cares about is his ship and his treasure.”

 

She tried not to reply, but couldn’t stop herself saying, “He’s different.”

 

“Oh , really? And what would make you think that?”

 

Blackbeard stared at her with even greater intensity. Behind her eyes, she hid her reasons - his tender words, the way he touched her, the feeling in her gut when he was near - and instead replied, “He just is.”

 

“Well, this is a sad case indeed, since Mr. Jones is not  long for  this world.”

Bringing her hands together on her lap, she sucked back the pain of his words, “When?”

 

“Why in the morning - first light so all and sundry may see that no one crosses Edward ‘Blackbeard’ Teach. How about I give you a front row seat for the show? I promise it will be quite entertaining.”

 

Cold dread consumed her.

 

What was he going to do? Surely it couldn’t be worse than the tails? The searing pain she had felt at his earlier cries filled her once more.

 

All at once she felt two emotions that had been rare so far in her life - helpless and frightened.

 

§

* * *

 

 

The burning pain of his broken flesh was almost unbearable by the time the morning light had risen. At some point, damp rags had been placed on the wounds, but they only provided relief for a few minutes until the moisture had dried out and the linen began to stick to the open sores, tugging against them as they did so.

 

If this had been but a mere prelude for Blackbeard, he had no doubt that soon he would be facing even more difficult circumstances. Trying to stretch out his back, the flesh stung sharply and he bit back a curse. The floor beneath him was cold and pressed against the bones of his legs and hips but he lacked the energy to move.

 

Killian Jones was never one to be defeated, but as the cold seeped through him and the sun continued to rise, he knew that escape from this situation was going to try even his skills. So he waited and planned. Trying to keep his focus on his predicament and not think of her.

 

§

* * *

 

 

A chair had been placed on deck - the one on which she had sat the night prior, before being returned to her dank cell with the small comfort of a blanket. The man who had dragged her and Dicken up onto deck, was large and wide. She had considered trying to get away from him, but she knew Dicken would not have made it, so instead she allowed herself to be dragged up towards the morning sun and then be pressed into the seat; the crewman’s hands holding her down by the shoulders.

 

“Good morning, your highness.”

 

She was greeted by the sneering captain with  a  grandiose bow, Blackbeard reaching for her hand and placing a cold, hard kiss against its flesh.

 

“As promised, the best seat available for this morning’s proceedings.”

 

He turned and bellowed, “Langley! Bring him up!”

 

Emma held her breath, her heart pounding, as she waited.

 

Her jaw dropped when he finally was hauled onto the deck. His face was streaked with sweat, his shirt hung around his waist in shreds and trickles of blood had dried upon his shoulders. “Oh God,” she whispered. 

 

By the time he was less than twelve feet away, he had lifted his head slightly. His blue eyes were all the more startling against his bruised face. They bore no fear, just the studied expression of one accustomed to hiding his feelings.

 

“Killian, glad you could make it,” Blackbeard laughed, advancing towards his prisoner with a lusty look in his eyes. She watched as Killian briefly glanced at him, before drawing back his head and spitting at his rival, hitting him squarely in the face. Blackbeard’s laugh turned into a snarl, as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his silk jacket, “Bad  form , pirate,” he leered, pulling back his fist and making contact with his jaw, as the burley crewman who had brought him onto deck held him in place.

 

Emma started as the force of the blow sent Killian tumbling backwards. A brief glimmer of pain flashed over his face; lips bearing his teeth and his brows pressing together. “That all you got , Eddie?” he grunted, spitting out a glob of blood onto the deck.

 

“Fuck you and your smart mouth , Jones.”

 

Stomping across the deck, he took hold of a thick piece of rope that was hanging over the gunwale. “Bring him!” he ordered and on cue, a struggling Killian was dragged over to the helm.

 

“What’s going on?” Emma whispered, to no one in particular. She felt the hands of her captor pressing her tighter into the chair as she tried to push herself a little higher, “Please, what’s happening-“

 

“‘E’s bein’ keenhauled miss,” came Dicken’s rough and aged voice from a few feet away. She turned her head - his face was set in a stern expression, his head slightly dipped.

 

_God,_ she thought, fear clasping at her chest, she had only ever heard of this punishment, thought it was just a story - as they were so many stories of pirates that she knew were untrue or at least exaggerated.

 

The rope was tied firmly around the captain’s  waist. He  struggled so much,another two crew were brought in to assist as a smirking Blackbeard watched from a few feet away.

 

“Not so clever now, are we Jones?”

 

And as Emma looked at Killian Jones, she saw an expression she’d never saw him wear before - utter hatred.

 

§

* * *

 

 

He sucked in and held a heavy breath as the ropes were tied tight around his waist, hoping that perhaps he could give himself a little space to escape from the ropes. Perhaps.

 

Looking to his right, he saw the rigging to which the ends of the rope had been attached, creating a loop which ran under the hull from port to starboard. Unconsciously he calculated how long he might be able to hold his breath, how quickly he might be able to untie the ropes-

 

He tried not to look at her. When he’d been brought onto the deck, he had seen sat there, beautiful as ever, her face etched with sadness. God it killed him to cause her pain. Keeping his gaze to the deck, he needed to think clearly, not let his thoughts be clouded-

 

But, just in case - just in case all this went horribly wrong and his infallible belief in no situation being undefeatable proved false, he needed to see her. One last time.

 

They were dragging him closer to the edge of the deck when he looked at her. Her lower lip was trembling. She was straining to stand against the hands of the crewman who held her down. A pain rose in his chest, pressing against his heart - far more palpable than any physical pain. It was the  realization that he may never see her again; never hold her, kiss her or hear her sharp wit.

 

In a concession to his pain, he let a single tear fall from his eye, quickly blinking it away, chastising himself for his foolishness. For who would mourn the passing of a pirate? His life  w ould be no loss. No loss at all.

 

§

* * *

 

She saw it. Briefly, a tear ran down his cheek. His expression was serious and pained.

 

Was the tear for her? For them?

 

Perhaps she would never know.

 

§

* * *

 

The water rushed quickly into his mouth and nose as he was plunged rapidly into the ocean’s depths - the rope to which  he was attached tugged firmly and quickly, forcing him further under the surface. He tried to hold his breath but at the shock of hitting the cold water he began to cough and splutter, drinking down a mouthful of salty water as he struggled against the ropes.

 

The path he was being sent on pressed his body against the barnacle covered helm of The Bounty. Below the water line, the timbers were encrusted with years of sea debris - its surface thickly layered with sharp edges that sliced into his already shredded skin.

 

Once, twice, three times - he lost count of the times his body bounced against the painful blanket that covered the ship. He kept his head close to his chest, knowing that a blow to the head would result in unconsciousness and certain death. Slowly he felt himself being tugged upwards once more. The sea above him turning a lighter shade of blue as he reached the surface, his lungs burning for freedom as he broke through and sucked back greedy breaths of air.

 

“How was that?” sneered Blackbeard from the deck above.

 

“Piece of piss,” retorted Killian, holding back the urge to wince caused by the saltwater seeping into his reopened wounds.

 

“And again!” his rival screamed, raising his hand and gesturing downwards. With a violent thrust he was being dragged again beneath the surface, holding his breath tightly and struggling against his bonds as the sky once more disappeared.

 

xoxoxo

 

She could see the rope being tugged hard. He vanished quickly over the gunwale. The panic in her chest reached fever pitch.

 

_No._ _NO_ _._

 

§

* * *

 

This time he couldn’t avoid the sharp crustaceans that clung to the helm. A deep gash formed on his arm as he tried to pry the rope from around his waist and down over his hips. He attempted to strike a balance between the effort of freeing himself and the need to retain enough air in his lungs to last the minute or so until he was hauled up once again. But it was difficult.

 

§

* * *

 

 

Abruptly, all hell broke loose.

 

All around the ship, ropes began to snap free. One or two at first, then the others in quick succession until the deck was lashed with heavy falling ropes and a rain of sails began to fall upon  its occupants.

 

“What the fuck-“ hissed her jailor. A thick piece of rigging crashed down as he spoke, lashing the deck beside them. Quickly he released her, running towards the captain who seemed as surprised as the others.

 

Suddenly free, Emma ran to the side of the deck where she expected Killian to emerge. Dicken was soon at her side and they searched the churning ocean as the large ship’s main sail began to flutter free and wrap itself over the deck.

 

Behind them, the captain was shouting orders. She could hear running behind her and the slashing of swords against canvas.

 

“Lass, we should go-“

 

“No!” she cried, clinging to the edge of the ship, “We can’t leave him!”

 

And then a spray of water announced his presence. He was gasping, his face was threaded with fine cuts, but he was alive.

 

“Help me!” she ordered.

 

Quickly checking behind her, she grabbed one of the felled ropes. Dicken tied it around his waist before they tossed it to Killian, “Hold on!” she cried.

 

Limply, he twisted the edge of the rope around his good arm, nodding when he was ready. With deep breaths the two began to heave his dead weight up the helm.“Keep holding on!” she ordered, pulling with all her might, gasping in pleasure when she saw his hookless brace land on top of the gunwale, running forward to tug him further onto deck.

 

“Killian!” she cried, easing his legs behind him, helping him collapse onto the deck, his body streaked with blood.

 

“Emma-“ he moaned, his eyes quickly darting behind her, “Emma!”

 

She swiftly turned, rearing back as she saw Blackbeard racing towards her, sword drawn, a scowl on his face, “Jones!”

 

Before she could react, Dicken was in front of her, tossing himself in between the blade and the princess, running his chest into the sharp steel, letting it pierce his body and grabbing onto the pirate, dragging him with him to the floor.

 

“Dicken!” she sobbed, tears welling in her eyes as the blood seeped down his back where the tip of the sword protruded. 

 

Behind her, Killian roared. Somehow he was pushing past her, the energy from some supernatural source; Blackbeard was being forced backwards against the main mast, his sword remaining firmly buried in Dicken’s chest.

 

As Emma ran to the old seaman, she watched as Killian’s hands grasped around Blackbeard’s throat.

 

§

* * *

 

 

“This is for my  brother, Liam !” Killian growled. The strength in his hands came from who knows where, his fingers pressing tighter and tighter against the firm flesh, ignoring the struggle of his body. Slowly the skin of his face began to turn a purplish shade. The whites of his eyes began to splinter into veins of red. He could feel the small bones of his neck begin to shatter under his grasp.

 

Harder  he pressed, until he had no more to give. He sank back, falling into unconsciousness, exertion overwhelming him.

§

* * *

 

 

Dicken was  already dead  by the time she reached him. Tears dripping, she pressed his eye lids shut and laid a soft kiss on his forehead.

 

She looked over at Killian,  _who_ was still grasping the other pirate’s neck. The rest of the crew seemed oblivious - somewhere a fire had started and the air was filled with the acrid smoke of burning timbers. 

 

Then he was sinking to his knees, dragging Blackbeard’s body with him as they both collapsed onto the deck.

 

Picking up her skirts, she stumbled forward the few yards to where he lay. She pressed a hand against his neck, silently saying a prayer when she felt the barest hint of a pulse.

 

But how would they escape? How would they get  off  this damned ship?

 

“Emma!”

 

With a start, she heard her name being called, by the most familiar voice of all.

 

“Mother!” she exclaimed, looking up to see Queen Snow stood, sword in hand, a triumphant smile on her face. “This was you-“

 

“No time,” she answered with a shake of her head, “ We need to go before the gunpowder in the hold catches light .”

 

Stumbling to  her feet,  she  pulled on Killian’s arm. 

 

“Leave him! We have no time to save the likes of him!”

 

“No ! ” Emma  replied firmly, shaking her head, “And Dicken, he deserves a proper burial for all he has done  for me.”

 

Mother and daughter stared at one another for a moment, the older of the two finally conceding defeat and taking Killian’s other arm. “This one first, I have a tender waiting. Quickly.”

 

Within a few minutes, the two heavy bodies were hauled over the deck and carefully deposited in the small boat that had  come to rest beside the ship, powered by a very stern looking Mr. Smee.

 

_**A/N I just wanted to give a HUGE shout out to my wonderful beta Ztofan (Nickillian on Tumblr). When I told her my plans for Killian, she just about wanted to kill me (such the depth of her love for our pirate), but still, she braevly trudged through this chapter. And seriously, I could not to this with our her!!!!!** _

 

_**And of course, thank you to everyone who reads. Your thoughts and reviews make me so happy, I love you all!** _

 


	24. Breathing Space

As they moved away from The Bounty, the flames began to rise. Choking, grey smoke began to spiral upwards, blocking out the duck-egg blue sky above the ship. The occupants of the small tender watched as men began to jump from the ship to escape the searing heat of the fire as it stalked its way across the deck and began to lick against the soaring towering of the main mast.

Emma sat on one of the small benches across the boat. Dicken’s body was behind her and Killian was pooled at her feet. Her mother helped pull the captain’s head upwards towards Emma’s lap and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders so he could breathe. Once settled, Snow stepped turned and took one of the oars from Smee, heaving with equal might, pushing them further and further away from the scene.

* * *

By the time they left the bay, there was little left of Blackbeard’s vessel. The fire had consumed the timbers quickly, expedited by the occasional small explosion of the gunpowder that was stored in the hold. Thick yellow flames exposed the skeletal remains of the ship as it slowly began to sink beneath the harbour’s grey-blue waters.

 

Tiredness made her body sag; her shoulders curving inwards and her chin sinking to her chest. The tension she had been carrying with her for days now seemed to evaporate. Killian’s body was heavy in her arms. She slid her body to the floor of the tender, resting her back against the hull and tugging his body against her to keep his airway open. He had not stirred since they had gotten into the boat. His head rolled with every wave they hit, but his eye remained closed. With one arm over his chest, she took comfort in his regular breathing. He was covered in bruises, cuts and gouged skin. Lain against her, his wounds had seeped blood onto her once elegant dress and her hands were stained with the tacky red liquid. Thankfully, the wounds were beginning to clot. But his forehead was marred by a thick layer of sweat and his face was pale and grey.

She noticed the boat had slowed. Looking up, she saw her mother and Smee had lain down the oars and were breathing heavily.

“Are we safe?” she asked.

Mr. Smee nodded, “Aye lass. We’re safe now.”

Giving her mother a small smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” she whispered to no one in particular. Quickly she looked down at the lifeless form in her arms. So weak, so vulnerable - so far from the man she knew as he lay pressed against her chest. Instinct was urging her to care for him, to nurse him and bring him back to health so that-

So that what? she wondered, gazing down at his lips, so full and familiar yet now dry and cracked.

She paid no heed to the peculiar look her mother gave her as she pushed a thick tendril of his hair from his face and ran her thumb tenderly across his cheek.

It was impossible for her to fathom what fate had in mind for her. So instead of thinking, she would live in the moment for as long as she possibly could.

* * *

Emma hadn’t thought to ask their destination, so it was with some relief that she soon saw the familiar outline of the Jolly Roger imprinted against the afternoon sky. It was anchored some way from the land. At first she could see no one aboard, but then a rope ladder was tossed over the helm, as well as some mooring lines. Pulling aside they quickly, they quickly secured the boat as Smee called to the men above for a stretcher to be winched down.

 

Shivering, she waited as Killian’s body was raised onto the deck, followed by the lifeless form of Dicken. Then her mother was urging her to climb the ladder, and with shaking legs she pulled herself up onto the deck.

There were no more than half a dozen crewman busying themselves about her. Two were occupied in helping the occupants of the tender aboard, another couple hurried about raising the anchor while two more were up in the rigging, checking the sails.

“Are we leaving?”

Snow nodded, “Best not tempt fate. Blackbeard had a few very loyal crewman.”

Emma whispered her agreement, looking once again at Killian. He seemed like he was sleeping almost, laid out on the damp timbers of the deck. “We need to tend his wounds.”

“Of course,” her mother replied flatly, “Let’s take him inside.”

They commandeered the men who had helped them aboard to carry the captain down the small flight of stairs to his cabin. Queen Snow had left after giving orders for him to be placed face down on the bed in the corner, leaving Emma alone with Killian for the first time since the tavern.

She brought a small stool next to the bed and sat, reaching up to take hold of his hand - one of the few parts of him that seemed somewhat untouched from the day’s events. Bringing it to her cheek, she pressed the back against her skin, rubbing her thumb against his palm. It was warm and the small hairs tickled her gently. Slowly winding her fingers into his she brushed her lips against his wrist. “Oh Killian-“ she murmured as rapid tears sprang to her eyes.

“Emma?”

Frantically she tried to push back her sorrow as her mother returned. She looked up and sniffed, teasing a smile from her reluctant lips. Her mother moved closer, shutting the door behind her. She held a small leather bag in one hand and a bamboo bowl of water in the other.

“I was just…” she paused when her mother gave her a knowing look. Quietly, she released his hand and stiffened her back. “What is that?” she asked, gesturing to the items her mother held.

“Some herbs and bandages from the surgeon’s quarters. We must clean and dress the wounds.”

Her voice was flat and emotionless. Emma stood and moved away as she approached, placing the bowl of water on the bed next to his head and pulling a bundle of clean rags from the bag,

“Here,” she said, handing Emma the bandages as she reached in and took out a jar of green paste, “Dampen a rag, use it to remove the worst of the dirt from the wounds, I need to prepare a poultice.”

Doing as instructed, she pressed the cotton into the bowl and squeezed out the excess water. Gingerly, she began to wipe at the angry red welts that striped across his back. The skin was swollen and angry, the gaps between the flesh hardened with congealed blood.

“You must press harder Emma or you will leave him open to infection.”

Gritting her teeth, she applied herself to the task, whispering silent sorries in her mind as he let out soft groans at her touch. Each scrape of the cotton against his raw skin made her heart ache - how did he endure such pain? God, the strength that this man must hold inside, it took her breath away.

“That’s enough,” her mother’s voice softly told her, her hand resting on her daughter’s and grasping it gently. “This will help the wounds heal,” she explained as she began to smooth the poultice onto his skin. The green paste had been watered down and spread easily across his back, caressing each cut and bruise. Snow extended it over his shoulders where the barnacles on the ships hull had dug in and eased a little over his arms which had suffered in much the same way. “Take off his brace,” she ordered as she applied more of the concoction. Holding her breath, Emma leaned over his body, loosening the leather straps that held the brace in place. She had to twist and pull a little to release it from his body. 

And then there he was, as bare to her as if he was naked, but in many ways so much more.

“Why do you look at him like that?”

The question broke Emma from her sad reverie. She span her head to look at her mother. “Like what?”

“You know what I mean,” she replied softly. Emma’s eyes fluttered to her hands where she was straightening out the lengths of cotton.

“I don’t know.”

Snow picked up a length of bandage and began to place it on top of the poultice. Silently Emma copied and the two women slowly began to cover the surface of the pirate captain’s back.

“He’s a pirate, Emma.”

“I know.”

The final bandage in place, Emma pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it over him. The bowl of water was taken and moved to his desk. Snow set about returning the unused items to the small satchel.

“I know this may be hard for you to hear from me, especially as I’ve been out of your life for so long, but you need to stop this- whatever this is. I’ve met many a pirate and they cannot be trusted. They lie and they steal and-“

“You don’t know him!” Emma snapped, moving the few paces back to the bed quickly before straightening the blanket about his shoulders.

“I don’t need to know him Emma, they are all the same. Whatever childish infatuation this is-“

“I am not a child, mother. In case you didn’t realize, I’ve grown up since you last saw me.” With a huff, she stomped across the cabin, angrily pulling at the ties of her tattered and stained dress.

“I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart,” she apologized, watching her daughter with wide, sad eyes, “I just know nothing will - or can - come of you giving a piece of your heart to such a man. Nothing but pain.”

“My heart already knows pain. You taught me that.” With a tug and a loud tear, the dress sank around her ankles until she stood just in her chemise. With a pained glance at her mother, she went to leave the room, “I need to change.”

* * *

The seemed to sail aimlessly for the next few days. The state of the ship had been explained to her by Smee and her mother - with whom an uneasy peace had descended, aided by neither bringing up the matter of the still unconscious captain. Emma had taken to spending some hours each day by his bedside - reading to him, checking his bandages and dipping a small sponge into water and applying it to his lips for moisture.

 

One afternoon, she was reading another chapter from Gulliver’s Travels when she heard his breathing change. The steady rhythm began to rattle and shake, before turning into a soft coughing. As she dropped the book, she heard a whispered cry of ‘water’.

Grabbing the tankard of ship’s ale she had carried into the room, she helped him lift his head and brought the cup to his lips where he greedily sank down half the contents, finishing his drink with a sigh of relief.

“Where am I?” he whispered. His eyes remained closed and he was using his arm to slowly pivot onto his back.

“The Jolly. Your quarters.”

His eyes sprang open at the mention of his ship’s name. They quickly darted to where she sat beside the bed. “Emma,” he whispered.

Her stomach clenched at the way her looked at her. His eyes lit up as they fell upon her face, his dry lips arched into a smile that she couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Aye,” she replied with a gently laugh, sliding her hand up onto the cool linen that covered the hard mattress on which he lay.

“Blackbeard?”

“Gone.”

A sated expression crossed over his face and his eyelids sank shut again. 

“What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet and gravelly.

“His men took the Jolly the night we first saw him in the tavern. I guess we know why he had to leave so quickly. Most of the men fled - they were taken by surprise. Smee freed my mother and they with a small band managed to escape to a nearby cove.”

“Damned useless sailors,” Killian muttered under his breath.

“The Jolly was left with just a few men to guard it, so the next night they snuck aboard and made short work of them.”

“Blackbeard always was an overconfident sod,” he laughed, finished in a choking cough as he laid his hand over his stomach.

“Then they found out from one of his crew what had happened to us and, well, the rest is known to you.”

A silent moment past as Killian digested the news. Emma shifted in her seat, running her palm over the sheet until he laid his hand on top over hers. “Tell your mother thank you.”

“Tell her yourself. She tended your wounds. If it wasn’t for her knowledge-“

Killian tightened his fingers around hers.

“She seems quite the woman. Just like her daughter.”

“I’ll never be as brave as she,” Emma replied, gazing into his sea blue eyes, searching for something unknown.

“But it was you who saved me - you didn’t leave me,” he whispered. “You could have. Perhaps you should have.”

“No, impossible,” she replied, offering no further explanation, instead laying her cheek onto of their joined hands and listening to the sound of their harmonious breathing as it filled the cabin.

* * *

His body had been kept in the cool hold the past few days. One of the men had sown him into his hammock and his name had been embroidered onto the canvas with uneven, black stitches.

 

He was brought onto the deck on the same stretcher that had been used the day they had returned from the Bounty. Killian had made his first appearance from his cabin, his arm over Smee’s shoulder, his shirt loose about his waist, some color finally returning to his complexion.

Emma stood with her mother as the body was brought over the the gunwale. Killian had brought the small book of sermons he kept in the cabin with him and the gathered few watched as he thumbed though the pages with his good hand.

“Dicken was a loyal crewman. He was not, perhaps, a spiritual man, but I refuse to believe that such a soul could suffer such a fate without meaning. In times of hardship, I often find this passage brings me peace:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to love and a time to hate,a time for war and a time for peace.”

Killian gave a silent nod and the stretcher was lifted, the wrapped body of Dicken slowly sliding down towards the sea below, disappearing out of sight to a selective sigh of those who watched.

Quietly the men began to dissipate, taking the stretcher away and returning to their normal tasks. Her mother gave her arm a soft squeeze before following Smee to the aft of the ship. Finally it was just Killian and Emma stood watching the soft breaks of the waters that the ship slowly made it’s way through the empty ocean.

“Time to get you home, love,” he said, shuffling to the edge of the deck and resting his arms on the gunwale.

“Home?” she asked, as if the word was unfamiliar.

“Your mother and I spoke yesterday. The course has been set.”

“But-“ she began, hurrying to his side, pausing when she saw the pained look on his face.

“But?” he echoed. He looked at her, almost blankly. His usually startling eyes seemed dimmed somewhat. Maybe it was the bleaching effect of the sun, or perhaps he was really too ill to be on deck…

Yet Emma feared it was something more.

“But nothing,” she sighed.

As the water sparkled beneath them, she let her head roll to the side and meet his shoulder. He didn’t move, letting her rest against him without comment.

_**A/N - I've said this so many times, but it's never less important. Thank you for reading. J x** _

 

 


	25. Atonement

  
The susurration of voices ended abruptly when her footsteps reached the door of his cabin. Emma swallowed a rising well of anger and knocked heavily on the door.

They were talking about her. Again. She knew it.

Making plans for her future. Deciding what would happen to her-

She let out a soft gasp when the door swung open. 

“Emma,” her mother softly said, giving her a small smile which failed to reach her tired-looking eyes. “I was just about to come find you.”

“Oh,” Emma sighed in surprise as Snow wrapped a soft hand around her wrist. It was the tenderest gesture between mother and daughter in days. Since the decision to set sail for the Enchanted Forest had been announced, Emma had kept her distance from her mother, afraid of her own conflicting emotions should they be left in close quarters.

The sound of Killian clearing his throat made Emma lift up on her toes to look over her mother’s shoulder. He was more mobile now, but she could see when he walked that he was in pain by the stiff way he held his shoulders and his tendency to wince every few steps. Sitting at the foot of the table, he was surrounded by charts and maps. He was wearing his brace again, though the hook had been lost on Blackbeard’s ship, so in its place was a simply carved wooden hand. When he a saw her he smiled for a second, before thinking better of it and dipping his head to the documents in front of him.

“Perhaps we should go-“

“No need, your highnesses,” Killian interrupted with the scrape of his wooden chair against the timbers of the deck, “I require some fresh air and to talk to my first mate.”

He nodded quickly and then limped towards them, tucking his shirt into his trousers as he moved. Snow stepped aside when he reached the door, Emma too turned to allow him to pass. But for an almost imperceptible second he paused; his gaze wandered from her forest green eyes to her parted lips. Her stomach tightened as she stared at him, only to relax into a wave of nausea as he spun his head and moved away down the corridor.

“Come in, my love,” Snow asked softly, bringing her arm around her daughter’s waist and drawing her into the room. 

The dust that clung in the air danced in the mid afternoon sun rays that streamed in through the small window panes at the back of the room. The bed in the corner had been tidied and the pile of tattered clothing that had been sitting at the foot of the bed had been removed. Much like the rest of the ship the space was returning to ‘normal’ - the Jolly Roger was being prepared again to be Captain Hook’s pirating vessel.

“Sit,” her mother urged and she obliged, choosing the chair that Killian had just vacated: it was still warm from his body. She picked up a gilded, pocket sized compass which was lain on top of scroll with singed edges. Flicking open the lid, she watched the needle dance around for a few seconds before pointing due north.

“So why did you want to speak to me?”

Snow had poured two cups of ale from the grey stoneware jug on the table; she handed one to Emma and then sat to her left.

“I know you are avoiding me.”

Emma didn’t reply, instead taking a sip of the lukewarm ale that was beginning to spoil after too long in the hold.

“And I understand that we have a lot of time to make up-“

“Is that what you think? I’m sulking because you weren’t there for me?”

Pinching her brow together, Snow ran her thumb along the lip of her cup. Emma looked at her hands - they were dry and rough with worn down nails and red patches of angry skin. Not the hands of a queen.

“Yes - No - I-“ Snow let out a deep sigh and shifted her elbows onto the table, the paper beneath her arms rustling as she moved. “I think it’s time I explained what caused me to leave.”

Emma’s eyes darted up her mother’s form - the carefully mended shirt and the wild curls that refused to be tamed into the loose updo she wore at the back of her neck. In all that had happened in the last week, the matter of her mother’s disappearance had been almost forgotten.

“Before I met your father I was quite the rebel - well, at least for a princess in those days. I would sneak out of the castle and get up to all kinds of crazy adventures. I thought I was so rebellious.” The smile on Snow’s lips told Emma that these were fond memories held of a time long ago. She tried to imagine her mother as a free-spirited young woman, scampering about the woods at night and sneaking into taverns.

“You told me about this,” Emma whispered, clicking the compass closed and pushing it across the table. Quickly Snow’s hand captured her wrist.

“But I didn’t tell you about the stupidest decision I ever made.”

Snow reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver chain. Looking closer, Emma recognised the swan pendant that had been left in Killian’s brother’s hands when he died. “This pendant was my mother’s - one of the few things she ever truly loved. She gave it to me on my 18th birthday. Some months after my coming of age, I slipped away from the castle one night. It was a full moon, I remember, there were no clouds and from south tower you could see as far as the ocean. I took one of the footmen’s horses and headed for town - I was so bored cooped up behind those walls that I called home. I always thought there must be something more out there for me.”

The words were so familiar that they could have been Emma’s own. She watched her mother turn the pendant over in her fingers as she continued. “In one tavern there were a group of young men from another realm. They did not know me and when they called me over for a drink, I was flattered. We drank and sang and talked, and then the dice were produced. The first few games I won with ease. I became over confident and wanted to up the stakes, so in my drunken haze I unclipped this necklace and tossed it onto the table.”

Emma swallowed, knowing that what came next would be painful to hear.

“And I threw the dice, and I lost. I had no more coins to barter with and I knew my mother would be devastated - so much so that I began to cry right there in the middle of the damned tavern.” She began to laugh, shaking her head at the memory. “Then a gentlemen appeared - one I hadn’t observed before. He made me an offer, he would redeem my necklace in return for a favor.”

“What favor?” Emma asked.

“He said one in kind, one for another day. I thought he was crazy and he couldn’t know who I was so I eagerly accepted, I slipped on the necklace and made my way back to the castle, and I didn’t think much of the man again. Not for many years.”

Suddenly she understood. “He was Blackbeard.”

Snow nodded. “You were about ten when he began making demands. I ignored them, of course - his requests for gold and other items of value. But then he began to threaten you and your father.” Her eyes darkened.

“So why not send the army after him?”

“I was scared,” she smiled sadly, “And stupid. I didn’t want to admit to your father what had happened. So I took a small group of trusted officers and we set sail in search for his ship.”

It was all beginning to click into place. Why her mother had gone on a mysterious sea voyage. The pendant. Blackbeard-

“We found him and we were outgunned and outmanned. We managed to escape - just - but I knew it was futile. And then I made the rashest, most crazy decision of my life. I thought if Blackbeard heard that I was dead that the debt would die with me - that his threats would stop.”

The atmosphere in the room fell flat. The two women sat silently, each in contemplation of what had been said and done all those years before. Emma torn between chastisement of her mother and sadness that she had faced such troubles alone.

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered.

Emma scrunched her eyes and willed away the approached headache. “Of course I can,” she replied, rubbing her boots together anxiously under the table, “But we need to take our time.”

“I understand.”

“And you need to realize I’m not a little girl any more. I’m grown up. When you were my age you were married and already queen- Just like you, I deserve my freedom. I need it.”

“I only want to protect you.”

“But when you go behind my back and make plans about my future, all you are doing is hurting me.”

“Don’t you want to got home?”

Emma didn’t answer at first, she instead shifted awkwardly on her chair and thumbed at the parchment in front of her. “It’s not that,” she began.

“Then what? Help me understand.”

“I left because I wanted my own life. I wanted to see the world and make my own path. I’m not ready to be queen - not ready to marry some prince I don’t love for the sake of diplomacy, or sit at court every day and give judgement on people who have lived a thousand more lives than I have or ever will.”

“Oh darling,” Snow murmured. She shifted her chair a little closer to her daughters and linked her arm within Emma’s. “No one is every ready to be queen. There is no manual or tutor who can teach you. Every ruler is different. Every king or queen must make their own choices.” She pressed a kiss on her daughter’s temple and Emma softened into the embrace, letting her head fall to her chest as she had done so many times as a child. “No life is easy. All one can do is try and live nobly, perhaps I myself have failed on that count.

Emma wrapped her mother’s roughened hand in her own, letting the years slip away, pretending for a moment that she was a little girl whose ills could call be solved by the soothing touch of her mother.

“I want you to have this.” Snow turned over Emma’s palm and let the silver chain and pendant pool beneath her fingers. “You should have had it long ago, and for that I am sorry. But now I want you to wear it and remember your own strength and all you have achieved.”

Taking the chain, she tightened her fist around the cool metal. 

They had far to go and so much to learn about one another. Yet for now there seemed to be a sea change in their relationship - a bearing of truths and secrets, a new period of honesty between the two women. 

* * *

The trip onto the deck had exhausted him. He hated to admit it but his wounds were not healing as quickly as he might have liked. At night the scars burned and pinched while light fevers tormented him even in the cooler air.

By the position of the sun, he reckoned an hour had passed since he had left the two women; he took his chance to return to his private quarters and rest. It would only be a day or so before they reached their destination, the winds and currents had been especially favourable to their course.

He stepped into the room quickly, pressing the door shut and beginning to shuck off his shirt.

“Killian-“

Spinning round, his cheeks burned when he saw Emma sat at the table, a book in her hand and a far off expression on her face.

“Forgive me, your highness, I thought that-“

“Why do you call me that now?”

Killian straightened the shirt back over his body as he took a few more steps into the room. “What?”

“ _Your highness_ ,” she replied with an arched brow.

“Because that’s what you are. And it’s befitting an inferior should address you by the appropriate title.”

Emma tilted her head and let the book fall closed.

“Then what should I call you?”

He moistened his lips, ignoring her question by tugging off his boots and kicking them against the wall.

“I see,” she sighed.

It hurt. To be so formal with her, to see how it made her bristle and the pursed look on her face that she had worn the last few times they had spoken. He was trying to do the honourable thing: to pull back, replace the boundaries that they had broken and return to status quo.

“My mother is a very persuasive woman then.”

“Your mother is a wise woman,” he softly replied.

He loosened his belt and tossed it onto the bed. His body ached, but he didn’t want to ask her to leave.

“So what are your plans?”

Turning back to her, Killian laid his good hand on the table, a safe, courteous distance from where she sat. “Replenish my crew, take stock, perhaps sail some uncharted waters-“

Emma quickly leaned forward, “Will you join us, Killian? At least for a few days. I would like you to see my kingdom-“

“Em- your highness - I don’t think-“

“I demand it. As royalty, you must acquiesce to my demands.”

He glanced in her direction, she was looking at him with a steely determination worthy of any seasoned crewman. She was trying to look stern and powerful, but he saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath the facade.

“I am not of your realm, princess, therefore you have license over my actions.”

“Then I ask you as - as a friend.” Her voice trembled at little at the word ‘friend’.

Friend. Could they be that? 

The unspoken knowledge of what had passed between the two seemed to fill the air around them. Each unwilling to broach the subject of what was done and said - and felt. It seemed almost a lifetime ago, so hard he had tried to push her from his mind. For it was futile to pursue such flights of fancy.

“Please Killian. At least let my physician look at your wounds, I know they cause you pain.”

She could read him easily. Her array of arguments had rounded upon themselves until he could argue no longer. The prospect of proper medical care was appealing. Not to mention, of course, a few more precious days where he could see her face and be in her presence; perhaps he could preserve her in a memory for the future.

“Okay princess, you win. I will accompany you and your mother, but just long enough to ensure you are safely returned and collect some supplies.”

“Good,” she smiled, rising to leave the room. “And Killian?”

“Yes?”

Their eyes lingered on each other for a second. He held his breath waiting for her to continue, but she seemed to think better of it, instead lightly nodding and leaving the cabin.

Alone, he slumped into his bed. His heart was racing from her presence. The air smelled like Emma. He wished that he could have touched her - even held her hand - one more time. But the queen had made it clear that whatever had or hadn’t passed between them must be forgotten. 

She had promised to arrange pardon for a number of petty crimes for which he and his crew had been accused of in the realm. And then, she had said, they could part on equal terms. A clean slate for Captain Jones and the remaining crew of the Jolly.

Yet as he fell asleep, he dreamt, as always in recent days, of her.

**A/N: So close to the end of the fic, yet so far too...**

 


	26. Home?

In the distance, she could see gleaming white towers of the royal palace, each one spiring into a fine point and finished with a peacock-blue swallowtail flag, edged with a thick stripe of gold. Emma had climbed the rigging at the aft of the shift. She had taken Killian’s spyglass from his cabin a day earlier and waited until first light, before creeping up onto the deck.

She had to see it. It was almost as if returning to the Enchanted Forest wasn’t real, as if she was in some kind of surreal reality where she wasn’t, and had never been, a princess. It seemed like those days were a lifetime ago.

But as she pushed her body higher above the deck of the Jolly Roger and pressed the cool metal rim of the lens against her eye, the truth became apparent: they were but a day’s ride from the castle. She was home.

Home.

Was she really home? 

As she watched white marble shimmer in the sunshine, Emma felt strangely detached from the sight. No affection for her kingdom rose in her heart, or anticipation at seeing those she had left behind - instead she was left feeling slightly deflated. After all she had achieved, all she had seen, here she was, back where she began.

§

* * *

 

“Smee!”

The rotund sailor came rushing across the deck, a rough hessian sack lay over his back and a coil of rope crossed over his shoulders.

“Aye, Captain?”

Killian arched his back, turning his face towards the blessed warmth of the mid-morning sun. “You have my instructions?”

Nodding, Smee shifted the sack onto his other shoulder, “Secure new supplies from the chandlers for repairs, restock the perishables and replace the lost crew with fresh blood.”

“Good,” Killian murmured in reply, running his hand behind his neck as his skin began to tingle in the heat, “Be sure to get the best sailors possible - no more of these lowlifes. You have my permission to increase their stipend by ten crowns per quarter, in addition to the usual allowances.”

“That will be most advantageous to my cause, sir. May I ask how long you will be absent?”

The gentle sound of soft voices was carried over the wind as the two men talked. Killian turned and saw Emma and her mother rising onto the deck, deep in conversation. He watched for a moment as the younger woman laughed at something, her face bursting into a pretty smile that made prominent the apples of her cheeks and her soft pink lips.

“A few days at most, Smee. No more.”

“Good sir. I’ll see to it we are fit to sail on your return.”

The first mate gave a curt nod and Killian waved him away, letting out a deep sigh when he saw the women approach.

“Your highnesses,” he dropped into a somewhat grand, yet sincere, bow, holding the position for just long enough to show his respect as he deemed fit. While he straightened his back, he saw Emma biting back a small laugh; her teeth were chewing at her bottom lip as she tucked back a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Captain,” Snow replied brusquely, “Is everything in order?”

“Yes milady, Dawkins will take us ashore on the tender - tis but a short journey - then as discussed I have gold to acquire horses to take us the rest of the way to your castle.”

“Good,” Snow nodded, “I’d like to make our entrance with as little a fuss as possible. There are many adjustments to be made in consequence of this turn of events.”

“Indeed,” Emma piped in. Killian shot her a glance, she was giving her mother a withering look. Clearly all was not yet resolved between the two royals. “And when do we leave?”

“Whenever you wish, Princess,” he softly replied, trying to ignore the way her eyes widened when she looked at him and the fluttering of her lashes when she spoke.

“Then there is no time like the present,” Snow sighed, fastening the ties of her cloak around her neck and turning to look over towards the bay beyond which they had anchored.

“As the lady requests,” Killian nodded. He took his leave to seek out Dawkins and start their journey. Emma was standing but a few feet away, he had to walk past her to step down into the hold. Their hands almost brushed against each other as he passed her; he could swear he heard her gasp a little at the near collision. He wanted to pause, to speak a word or two with her, to look into those green eyes once more, perhaps for the last time even. But honor and a royal promise sent him on his way and back into the darkened depths of the ship. 

§

* * *

 

The journey passed uneventfully. Unburdened by belongings, the transfer from ship to carriage was an easy one, the acquisition of two horses and a simple wooden cart arranged by Killian through the exchange of a few gold coins. The road through the dense woods around the castle was quiet. The Enchanted Forest was a realm that only had one coastline, most of its industries revolved around woodcutting, farming and some mining - all of which took place in the hills and plains to the west of their current position.

The women sat quietly together in the cart, atop two small bales of hay that Killian had bartered into the purchase. He has asked them once again if he should not just alert the royal guard who held a presence in every small town. Queen Snow, however, had insisted a quiet arrival into the castle was essential.

Emma didn’t disagree. It was only as she began to recognize some familiar surroundings - a clearing, a ruined building or a particularly ancient and gnarled tree - that she understood the consequences of their return. Not only was the wayward princess to be reunited with her father, so too was her mother. The mother who had been given up for dead. A mother and a wife who had been replaced, in terms of situation, if not in affection.

“Mother,” Emma whispered, trying to keep her voice lower than the gentle clatter of hooves, “Have you - I mean - what will you say to father?”

She watched Queen Snow, press her hands together, wringing them anxiously with her head dipped. “It is a difficult situation, my love.”

“But he will forgive you, as I have?” she asked, hopefully, lilting her voice into a light peal as she pressed her mother further.

“Perhaps,” was the brief reply. Snow began to tug at her cloak, tucking it tighter under her legs, “But you must understand darling, that much time has passed and these things are complicated-“

“But you are still queen, mother. All that has occurred in your absence was based upon a falsehood. All contracts are null and void.”

The queen turned, giving her daughter a gentle smile and slipping her hand onto her knee, “In terms of law, my love, you are correct. Yet other ways… t hey can be more complicated. Your father has mourned me and -“ She swallowed, “Moved on, I dare say. Unfortunately these matters are rarely black and white in their outcomes. I only wish I could recant the rash decisions of so long ago…”

A dark expression passed over her pale complexion, dulling the luster of her blue eyes and fading the still-youthful pink of her cheeks.

“I have faith,” Emma whispered, pressing a little closer. For all that still was between the two, her love for her mother was unfolding with greater urgency each day.

“Oh the sanguinity of youth,” Snow murmured.

The discussion was interrupted when sunshine suddenly flooded the cart. They had reached the outline of the woods, the castle was close, and perhaps within an hour they would be at the east gate.

“I prefer to call it hope, Mother. And I hope it is not a mere situation of youth. I should hate to think it an emotion that extinguishes as one ages.”

Snow kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You are so like your father,” she mumbled, “Always seeing the best in everything.”

“I only see what’s really there,” Emma insisted, returning the kiss with a soft press of her lips to her mother’s hand.

§

* * *

Thankfully the east gate was the quietest route into the outer bailey. It was mostly used for merchants and vendors bringing their wares to sell and as the day was not a market day, there was little traffic. Killian had brought the cart to within sight of the gate when Emma called him to halt. He watched as the young princess bounded over the rough walls of the vehicle, tugging down the hood of the cloak she had borrowed from him and dashing towards the two guards.

They had reacted with surprise, of course. It seemed like one of the men was trying to call through the gate at first until Emma tugged on their arm and they ceased. She was gesturing, pointing back to the cart and horses and then towards the castle keep, just visible above the rampart. Finally, one of the guards nodded and she ran back to the queen and the pirate.

“Come,” she urged, holding out her hand to her mother, “Lieutenant Carter here will escort us inside.”

Killian followed the two, keeping a respectable distance and nodding to the remaining armored guard who stayed at the gate as the two, wide doors opened into the quiet eastern bailey. The cobbled path in front of them was scattered with loose straw; each stone was worn smooth through ages of traffic. If this pathway could only talk of those who had walked it, what stories it would tell.

The few people about could not help but notice the two strangely dressed women and their leather clad attendant as they made their way across the grass-edged path. From the corner of his eye, he saw the people begin to whisper to each other, dipping their heads and edging closer. Clearly, an attempt at a quiet entrance was easier said than done at a royal court.

They soon reached an oak door, fortified with thick strips of black iron, in an otherwise impenetrably thick castle wall. The lieutenant produced a heavy stack of keys and unlocked it, ushering the three inside until he pulled it closed behind them.

“The king is in his library, I believe.”

“So not much has changed,” Killian heard Emma mutter as they followed the guard down a long, winding corridor lit by hanging glass lanterns. Eventually, they reached a narrow, spiral staircase - “A service staircase,” Emma explained, though he had asked for no clarification. The small group climbed. Now the darkness was occasionally punctuated by light from small, paneless windows that gave a view out over the castle ramparts and down onto the bailey below.

He lost count of the steps they had ascended, but it seemed mere minutes before they were turning off down another, much grander corridor. This one was lined with small painting and mirrors and the ground was covered in a thick, red carpet that ran down its center. 

“You go ahead, my love,” the queen told her daughter. They had arrived at another door, this one stained a deep cherry red and glazed with some kind of lacquer.

Emma paused. She lifted her hand and dragged it though her wavy blonde locks. She shifted on her feet, transferring her weight from foot to foot and casting glances back at Killian. He replied with an encouraging nod, offering her a small smile, yet holding his breath as her hand reached out for the gold handle.

For now, everything would truly change.

§

* * *

 

Her heart ached as she twisted the large golden handle which turned the latch of the door.

Tentatively, she stepped inside. It was dimly lit, even though the large windows were south facing and she knew the room would normally be bursting with afternoon sunshine. She glanced at the drawn drapes and the dripping wax candles that had been placed about the room to counteract the insufficient light. 

With a few more steps she was standing on the ornate rug that stretched out over most of the floor. On every wall there were towering bookcases of deep, ebony wood, each stacked with innumerable volumes, giving the air a satisfying, musty smell which she had never been able to better.

She turned to her left. That was where her father’s sitting suite was situated; two armchairs and a small chaise-lounge gathered around an ivory topped table where the chess set lay.

And there she saw him: sitting in his usual armchair, his back to the party, no book in his hand, he seemed lost in thought, or perhaps he was sleeping?

A few more steps and the aged floorboards beneath her feet groaned in protest. He whipped around in an instant, a puzzled look on his face, “Who goes there-?”

Emma took a deep breath and froze. She met her father’s crystal-blue eyes with her own. They widened. He slowly stood, walking around the armchair, his head tilted to one side as he stared at the woman in front of him.

“Emma?”

Tears in her eyes, she nodded. Her chin trembled as he bounded the few steps between them and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close and hugging her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“Daddy,” she whispered into his ear, all at once overwhelmed by emotion.

She had missed him. So much. So much more than she had been able to fathom until this point. He was her father, her idol - her first love and who she measured every other man against.

“I’m, I’m sorry-“ She began, her breath hitching. 

He hushed her, pressing his palm against her hair and laying his head on her shoulder. “I thought I had lost you-“

“I’m here,” she murmured, slowly pulling back and giving him a bright smile. “I’m not alone, though…”

Gently she took his hand and led him back towards the door to the hallway. She pressed her fingers against his as they walked, glancing back at him, sudden worry clouding her thoughts.

“Um, Father, I- I’m not sure how to say this-“

“Hello David.”

She didn’t need to finish her introduction. Before she could, Snow stepped from the hallway into the room, wearing a sad smile on her lips, her hands clasped in front of her.

Confused, the king glanced from mother to daughter. His face was etched with disbelief. A lost daughter returned and at the same time a long-lost wife? Emma felt his pain as she watched his brow crinkle and mouth open.

“I found her,” Emma explained, “I found Mother. She-“

“I didn’t drown,” Snow interjected, taking a few steps closer. David was frozen, his hand still entangled in his daughter’s, his face pale and drawn. “It was all a ruse. A stupid, stupid ruse.”

“But...” The king shook his head, “But where- how? I-“ His shoulders sank in a sigh. Emma let his fingers go and his arm dropped by his side. 

“We have much to talk about, I am under no illusion of this truth.” Snow’s voice was low and resolute, her jaw was firm set and she gazed at her husband with longing eyes, but kept her distance. “But please, let us first celebrate this reunion with our daughter and let other matters wait until they must be attended to.”

In a daze, the king slowly nodded his agreement, “Yes. Yes, we must…” His voice trailed off as he reached for the long, velvet rope that hung by the door. Tugging it gently, Emma could hear the distance tinkling of the servant’s bell. “You must be tired, please, rest, bathe-“ David shook his head as if he did not know what to say next, “We shall have dinner at eight. That shall be the time for discussion.”

The queen nodded her agreement, but Emma watched the way the glow in her eyes had dimmed and felt her heart ache.

§

* * *

He watched from the shadows of the hallway, hearing every word of the reunion and feeling out of place in such an intimate moment. He considered slipping away. Most likely he would not be noticed, as the guard seemed as engrossed in the drama happening in the library as he. Easily he could have dashed away and been back to the Jolly in a mere few hours, should he take the strongest horse and unlatch the cart.

But he didn’t.

Instead he stayed and waited, respectfully trying to block out the details of their discussion, instead remembering his promise to Emma. He had assured her he would stay and see she was settled and have his wounds tended to. And that was what he would do.

No less. No more. 

**A/N - so the past few chapters have explored a bit more of Snow and Emma’s relationship and I’ve put Emma and Killian on the back burner a little (though it’s all simmering away in the background). From next chapter forward, it’s time to change tracks and see what is really going on in our star-crossed lovers heads...**

 


	27. A Delicate Matter

His last glimpse of her had been minutes after they had left the library. 

Two servants had attended to the bell the king had rang; they were given brief instructions by his royal highness and quickly then escorted the trio further into the depths of the castle keep. They soon reached the end of the corridor, a junction marked by a large, stained glass window that looked out over a small courtyard. The glass was shaped into the form of a white swan wearing a golden crown, cast against a background of shimmering blue waves. The afternoon sun shone through the small panes, casting pretty colours on the stone floor below it.

Briefly, they paused. Emma pulled one of their attendants aside and whispered a few instructions. Killian watched her from a few feet away, still feeling all the awkwardness of one who felt so out of place. She glanced in his direction and gave him a shy smile.

“Killian, this is Carter,” she gestured to the manservant who gave a small bow, “I’ve instructed him to bring you to our private physician so he may tend to your wounds.”

The pirate nodded his understanding and she replied in kind with an almost shy smile. “As you wish, your highness.”

Emma fidgeted briefly for a second, looking back at her mother who was in conversation with the other servant, before turning around and stepping a little closer. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she whispered, her eyes wide and hopeful looking.

Killian took a deep breath and gave a brief nod before shooting her a heady glance as she pulled away and turned back to the queen.

§

* * *

The salve the physician had prescribed stung brutally when applied. It had an earthy, metallic scent that clung to the hairs in his nostrils, lingering even when bandages were applied to cover it.  A thick layer was required to cover the wounds on his back, but within a few minutes the skin began to tingle and then cool. His muscles started to relax, uncoiling slowly from the tension that had held them together since they had escaped The Bounty. As instructed he lay on the small bed in the quarters he had been assigned: up on the topmost floor of the castle, tucked away in a far corner. The only daylight came from a small, rectangular window, from which he could just make out the white sails of the Jolly in the faint distance if he looked hard enough.

It took mere minutes for him to drift into a deep sleep. The mattress was a soft, down filled one, supported on a roped lattice hung over a heavy wooden frame. It sagged happily under his body as he kicked off his boots and for the first time in weeks his mind emptied of all thoughts.

He awoke, almost in a daze, sometime later. While he was slumbering, a lantern had been brought into the chambers and a set of fresh clothing had been laid at the chest that buttressed the bottom of the bed. Scratching his fully regrown beard, he shifted his legs to the floor. He walked over to the lantern and paused when he saw a small sheet of white paper had been fixed under it.

‘Dinner is at eight. I took the liberty of ordering you fresh clothes. Ring the bell and Carter will attend to you.

Yours,

E.’

The curving, slanted script was feminine, yet still bold. He shifted the lantern and brought the paper to his nose - it was scented with lavender. 

Moving to the new clothing, he tentatively stretched his back out and was pleased to feel an increase in movement already. The tightness of the scars seemed to have lessened. He tugged away his dark linen shirt and ran his fingers over the grooves the tails had made in his shoulders - already they seemed a little smoother and flatter. Mentally, he made a note to find the physician before he left in order to thank him and furnish his palm with a few gold coins.

The bundle of clothing was topped with a crisp white cotton shirt with sleeves that gathered into a slight ruffle at the wrist. He pulled it over his head and then slid off his leather pants - which he had to agree were in some need of laundering. Fine brown breeches and a thick, leather belt where their replacement. He was a little surprised that they fitted so well: perhaps the princess was even more observant than he thought.

Then, after taking a look out of the window to see the last rays of sunlight slipping below the horizon, he walked towards the door and tugged on the rope bell to its left.

§

* * *

It was a surprise to find that dinner was not held in some large, grand dining room - as he has expected royalty to - but rather in a more intimate lounge. While he was announced to those present, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. The room was small for a castle but indeed of no mean size. To his left was a seating area facing a wrought iron fireplace. The dining table was opposite it; perhaps large enough to sit ten with ease but not making the current party of three seem out of place.

“Killian,” Emma smiled as he advanced towards them. She stood quickly, her chair pushing back as she did. His breath caught for a second when he saw her. Wearing a simple, periwinkle blue dress she never looked prettier. The dirt and grime of the ship had been soaked from her skin and around her neck he noticed the simple silver swan pendant. “Father,” she began, looking over her shoulder to catch his eye, “This is Killian Jones - the sailor who delivered us home.”

At the word ‘sailor’ he was just about to raise a brow when she gave him a brief wink. He bit back a small laugh and instead silently agreed to go along with this tale, instead giving a deep bow and a greeting of, “Your highness, it’s an honour.”

“The honour is all mine, sailor, you brought back what was most precious to me: a debt I cannot easily repay.” Killian watched the king’s eyes flutter briefly to Snow, before they settled on his daughter and he gave a nod. “Please, join us.”

He found himself directed to a chair between the young princess and her father. It had wide, curving arms and was upholstered with a soft, golden velvet: refined but not ostentatious.

No sooner had he settled then the first course began to arrive. A servant dressed sombrely in black and white appeared with a small cauldron of soup wrapped in a thick towel. They scooped the thick, creamy broth into the bowls before giving a quick bow and then withdrawing.

“Eat,” the king instructed and Killian was happy to oblige. It had been so long since he had tasted such fine food. Hot and flavoursome, it slid easily down his throat and warmed his empty stomach. As he supped, he took a chance to glance around the room. He had expected much awkwardness to be evident. A queen absent for ten years suddenly returning to her husband who had remarried - not to mention with her missing daughter in tow - surely thus would be cause for some alarm? But no, the two royals ate slowly, making small talk - about the food, the room and the castle in general. It was strangely unnerving.

The dinner continued without incident. Small talk passed between the diners; he caught the king smiling at his daughter on numerous occasions and reaching out to cradle her hand more than once. Emma shared some of her experiences during her absence, Queen Snow, however, was conspicuous by her quietness. During desert - a fine concoction of cream, fruit and brandy - the king asked him about his life. He bluffed his way through an answer - melding parts of his pre-pirating life with some fabrications, under the watchful eye of mother and daughter. 

Soon the grandfather clock beside the fireplace stuck nine thirty. All three courses were served and Killian felt utterly gorged on food, a satisfying but none the less slightly sickening sensation. Quietly the king stood and made his excuses; he invited Killian to an audience the next afternoon and the pirate accepted, with only a little trepidation. Once he had left, the remaining three supped on their small glasses of desert wine, the queen casting furtive glances at the door the king had left through, before she finally feigned a yawn, “I am much tired after our travels, my love. I would much like to meet for breakfast in the morning-“

“Of course mother. You must rest. We have much to discuss and arrange in the morning.”

Snow gave the two a brief smile before she quietly exited the room, a swoosh of her heavy skirts the only sound until the heavy door closed behind her.

“I’m sorry-“ were the first words to escaped her lips as she gave Killian a small smile. “The story we told father-“

Killian shook his head and took a sip of his wine, “No apology needed, indeed I had suspected such measures would be necessary.”

“Yes,” she sighed, balling her napkin in her fist, “Unfortunately.”

“It makes sense love, you could hardly tell your father you had brought a pirate back to his home.”

Emma laughed lightly, dropping the napkin on the table and swivelling in her seat so she was facing him. “Yes, that may have been a step too far.”

She leaned forward and grasped the crystal wine decanter at the center of the table. Pulling out the stopper, she quickly refilled their two glasses and lifted hers.

“Let’s make a toast.” Killian complied, raising his glass to meet hers, “To all’s well that ends well.”

The two glasses touched and then both parties took a drink, Emma sinking the sweet wine in one fluid movement, before placing it down on the table with a gentle cough.

“So,” Killian began, “I take it your reunion is going well?”

Emma glanced down at her empty glass, hesitating for a second before tilting her head to the left.

“Ah…” Killian murmured.

“It’s strange - I mean, it’s not like I thought this would be an easy situation to ovecome. But father seems so quiet. He took the explanation of my absence with little commentary.”

“Perhaps he is just happy to see you home.”

“Perhaps…”

She set about rearranging her full skirts around her legs, beneath her dress she was wearing delicate silk slippers, adorned with tiny silk flowers on the toes. So strangely feminine compared to how he had came to know her.

“What of your mother?” He asked quietly, “Tonight seemed oddly… domestic.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “When I arrived for dinner they seemed deep in conversation and then…” Emma looked up and the sadness in her green eyes made her heart ache, “I don’t know.”

“It is a delicate matter,” Killian nodded, reaching his hand onto the table and running his fingers over the unused salad fork.

“That is one way of describing the situation. At least my stepmother is not here. Thank God for that. Her own father is ill and she has travelled to his kingdom.”

“That is a small blessing,” he agreed. He picked up his goblet and drank the remaining wine, feeling it pleasantly warm his overstuffed stomach as he listened to the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock.

“I think I’d best take my leave now, Emma, you must be tired.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, pushing back her chair to stand, “I suppose.”

The look of disappointment on her face surprised him. He instantly felt a twinge of hope - though the immediate meaning of this hope eluded him.

He joined her, stood by the table, shy little smiles passing between the two. For a moment he forgot that she was a princess and he was a pirate; even the memories of the last months softened. It was almost as if he were seeing her for the first time, in the soft candlelight of the quiet room.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered. She gasped lightly and he swore a light blush rose on her cheeks as she dripped her chin. “The royal garments suit you.”

“It’s just a dress,” she replied, ringing her hands together in front of her body.

Feeling bold, he took a step nearer, “One that befits your station, your highness…”

“You don’t have to call me that,” she whispered, a pleading tone in her voice as she turned her forest green eyes on him and he paused for a moment. “We’re…  _friends?”_

His only reply was a sad little smile. He didn’t know what to say. Whatever connection, or relationship - or intimacy they had once held - had to die the moment they had crossed the threshold of the palace. Surely, she must understand.

“Killian,” she prompted, moving a tiny bit closer, tilting up her head to look at him.

But perhaps it was better to say nothing. To just slip away…

“Aye, that we are,” he lied. “And as a friend, I bid you goodnight.” With his gentle bow, his lips came close to her forehead and it was almost automatic that he dropped down and placed a kiss at her hairline, immediately darting back and turning his head away. “I apologise, I didn’t-“

He paused at the feel of her hand around his wrist, pulling his back to her. Her eyes were wide now, searching his face for something - he knew now what, but she seemed to find it. Then she was reaching up on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck and before he could react, their lips were pressed together. Her warm, sweet tasting mouth nipping against his, teasing his lips open, pressing her body closer to his until he relented and returned the kiss: softly, achingly, passionately.

He knew - knew - he should pull back and walk away. For what good could come of this? But he was weak and her allure was strong, and instead of pushing her away, his arms wound around her waist, drawing her back into such a sweeping, all encompassing kiss that the room began to spin.

It may have lasted mere seconds, but it felt much longer. He drank her in, eagerly pouring himself into her, expressing in a kiss all the things he felt it so improper to say - especially now.

Reluctantly he wound the kiss down, slowing his motions, brushing his lips against hers, gently kissing her cheek as her arms loosened and fell by her sides.

“Goodnight, princess,” he whispered into her ear. Then, as quick as his aching heart would allow, he dashed from the room, not waiting for a reply.

§

* * *

Rapidly mounting the stairway that led to his chambers, he tried to still his pounding heart and conflicted emotions. Mentally he chastised himself - full of all the inappropriateness of his actions. He may be a pirate, but first and foremost he considered himself a gentleman who respected the order of the world. An order he knew must be obeyed.

But it was not a simple affair: their journey thus far, their closeness, their intimacy - complicated matters.

And he couldn’t ignore the tug of his heart, even if he knew he should.

The sound of rapid footsteps broke him from his reverie.

“Killian!”

He turned to see a breathless Emma hurrying after him, her skirts gathered up and her hair falling loose from its pins.

Sucking in a deep breath, he prepared his apology, “Emma, I am so sorry, I don’t know-“

A look of confusion crossed her face, “What? Oh, no that’s not why…” She paused mid sentence and let down her skirts, smoothing back her hands though her hair. The exercise had made her eyes twinkle, even in the low light of the corridor. “I just forgot to say, there will be a ball, a celebration of my return if you will, next week-“

He nodded, unsure of what she was going to say next.

“And I’d like you to come. As my guest.”

His eyes fell to the floor. A few days he had said. That was the agreement. He felt all the danger of a longer visit, for every moment in her company built upon the growing confusion deep inside of him. The conflict between what was right and what he desired was rich indeed.

“We agreed just a few days…”

“Please,” she asked, reaching out and placed her hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch - as if her hand was a scorching hot and branding his skin even through the thin cotton. “For me.”

And of course he couldn’t deny her. Even if his mind was ringing the sound of the alarm - telling him to step away and make an excuse.

“Okay. For you. But I must leave the day after.”

“Good,” she smiled, only the tiniest glimpse of disappointment evident at his condition. “I’ll have word sent to your ship.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Killian,” she whispered as he moved away once more.

And off to his chambers he returned, for a fitful sleep with the sound of his name that fell from her lips, ringing in his ears.


	28. Hidden Things - Part 1

With the stays of her corset being pulled ever tighter, Emma felt a rising fluttering in her stomach. It may have been the glass of sweet wine she had drank while her hair was being arranged or the anticipation of being put on display in front of so many. But she knew in her heart what it was: she was excited.

Everything had been arranged so quickly. Invitations were sent out to all the most notable families in the realm and neighboring royalty was duly summoned. Word had spread rapidly of the princess’s safe return. The news of her mother’s simultaneous reappearance had spread even faster - though was met with a stunned disbelief in the villages and towns it passed through. How could it be? It was impossible…

And for all this, the ball was sure to be a sensation. Extra guards had been drafted in from outside the city; all the local inns were fit to burst with guests, everyone anticipating the moment when the princess and her mother would appear on the royal balcony at the start of the evening, to greet their people.

Finally dressed, she moved to the long glass mirror beside her wardrobe. The gown was perfect. How Mathilde, her seamstress, had produced such a beautiful and detailed garment in less than a week, she would never know.

When the celebration had been announced, Emma had asked for the trunks containing her ball gowns to be brought to her quarters. Silk, taffeta, satin - all the colors of the rainbow, flounces and sweetheart necklines, alongside full, billowing skirts and velvet ribbons. Within an hour she was spent, sitting amongst a towering pile of discarded dresses, none of which felt right.

Each gown was special in its own way - handcrafted and made with care. But every corset and every skirt felt out of place against the tightened muscles of her body. She felt like a girl playing dress up. These dresses were a representation of a more carefree Emma - one who was sheltered and somewhat naive. One who hadn’t lived.

Mathilde had watched her for some time, before disappearing quietly from the room. Emma’s head was spinning when the maid returned, in her arms a bolt of soft, crimson colored silk - the exact same shade as the flag of the Jolly Roger.

“I’d ordered this before - well, before-“

Emma nodded, reaching out to touch the material. It was butter soft. “It’s perfect, Mathilde.”

“I thought the shade would suit you.”

Standing she gave her woman a grateful smile. “But there surely isn’t time to make a whole new gown?”

Mathilde laid her hand on the princess’s arm and gave it a soft squeeze, “If I have to work day and night it will be done.”

And she had kept her promise.

The dress was like nothing Emma had ever worn before. The garment was cut close to her body, the skirt edging out in a narrow A-line from her hips, far less ornate that her other gowns. Small cap sleeves covered her shoulders and the neckline of the dress dipped into a soft cowl - revealing just a hint of cleavage. A belt of black silk ribbon was tied around her waist and her neck was adorned simply with the swan pendant. Her hair had been pulled into a low chignon about her neck and finished with a fan-shaped comb, dotted with tiny rubies that twinkled when she moved.

“You look beautiful, your highness.”

Emma had turned and cupped her seamstress’s hands in her own, “Your work is beautiful.”

“I’ve missed you, miss,” she whispered, almost shyly, in reply.

Beaming, Emma lifted Mathilde’s hands and placed a kiss on her wrist. “As I have you,” she admitted. 

For she had now begun to understand what she had left behind in her absence: not only the constrictions and rules of royal life, but also the privileges of her rank and the responsibilities that she held to others. She was beginning to realize just what being royalty really meant; she couldn’t deny it scared her nor could she ignore the yearning in her blood - to rule was her destiny.

§

* * *

 

When she had told Killian it was to be a masked ball, he had raised an eyebrow and she had laughed copiously. On reflection, it was a most beneficial situation to him - there was always the chance that someone may recognize him, even without the hook from which he gained his nickname.

A day after they had arrived, Emma had sent a local craftsman to see Killian. He had taken measurements of his brace and then two days ago, a new attachment had been delivered to his quarters. It was an elegantly carved hand, in a soft, light wood - the likes of which he had not seen before. The fingers slightly curled in a natural way, as they would when an arm hung alongside the body. It had been tinted to match his skin color and each finger was delicately carved - with fingernails and the grooves of the knuckles both so realistic that one had to look twice. Alongside the wooden hand was a pair of soft, brown doe skin gloves. They fit both hands perfectly. When he wore them, it was impossible to guess his disability. 

The past week had flown by. After his first dinner, he had taken to eating his meals in the kitchen with the servants. It seemed out of place to eat with the family and he was scarcely less thankful for the distance it put between him and her - Emma. The princess.

Of course, he’d known for weeks now of her royal status, but somehow here, beneath the gilded towers of her family’s castle, amidst ancient portraits of ancestors long since passed and with her body swathed in sumptuous fabrics that screamed expense, it all finally sunk in. They were from different, opposing worlds - so much at odds with each other that his true identity had to be concealed. It could never be known what had truly transpired in the months the princess had been missing and his part in her return would only ever be a footnote in the annals of history. Better to slip away gradually: she would soon forget him, of course.

Yet she was a stubborn lass. As much as he tried to lose himself exploring the castle and the nearby woodland, she had found him on more than one occasion: sitting by the lake or riding about the grounds on the stallion King David had so kindly lent him. He had kept his distance, been cordial but cool - ignoring the questioning look on her face and the painful flash that crossed her eyes when he bid her adieu. It hurt, of course, closing himself off like that. He couldn’t forget their shared kiss of the other night, nor the intimacy of the evening they had spent in her room at the inn. But that was then and this was now, so he’d keep the memories and let everything else fade.

One promise he would honor, however, was to attend the ball. 

He checked his appearance before he left. Another simple, white shirt - but now topped with a tailored vest in deepest blue with golden brocade accents. Cream colored breeches were finished with shining, black riding boots.

The final touch was an elegant, navy dress coat. It was cropped at the front, falling into tails behind him. Finished with glossy, golden buttons and epaulettes at his shoulders. The cut made him stand taller and walk with a lighter step - perhaps like that of a man who had a simpler life. One uncomplicated by hurt and pain and regret.

The mask he had been given was of simple, black silk that tied with a ribbon at the back of his skull. He was thankful for it. Tying it tightly, he found it hid his expressions quite well. Dressed like this, perhaps he could blend quite easily into the background. It was even possible that in the crowd he would be forgotten and could slip away silently. Perhaps.

§

* * *

 

Before the appearance on the balcony - the traditional start to any ball - Emma took the chance to wander through the castle’s ballroom. For the past few days it had been a hive of activity - carpenters, milliners and servants rushing about preparing the room for the festivities. 

The ballroom was the largest hall in the house, with a vaulted ceiling criss-crossed by thick, oak beams from which sparkling, candlelit chandeliers hung. The raised platform at the far end of the room usually sat three thrones: king, queen and princess. But tonight only two were set - her father’s and her own. Her mother’s position was still somewhat uncertain. Her stepmother had not yet returned from her own kingdom and Emma gathered little headway had been made in discussions between her parents by the chilly atmosphere that permeated through meal times.

The towering glass windows that lined each side of the hall were barely visible, instead along each side hung large, flowing panels of periwinkle blue silk edged in gold. They created a winged effect, almost as if on a stage. The setting fit the theme of a masked ball and its promise of things hidden. She ran her hand along one of the panels as she walked down the room, the sound of her low heels clattering against the wood as the orchestra began to tune their instruments and servants dashed to and fro carrying pitchers of wine and platters of food.

So this was it, everything was almost back to how it was before. It was as if her whole time away from the kingdom was erased and counted for nothing anymore. Her father had certainly asked no further questions and her mother had said little to her either. She wondered if her mother had explained to the king the reason she disappeared yet. Perhaps not; any intimacy or familiarity seemed to elude them at the moment.

With a final glance, she headed to her mother’s quarters so the ball may begin henceforth.

§

* * *

 

After dallying a little on the way, Killian finally reached the ballroom, just late enough to be respectable. Most of the guests had arrived it seemed. He passed the slip of paper that served as his invitation to one of the footmen at the door and received a polite nod in reply.

He doubted he had ever seen so much silk and gold finery in one place before. His pirate mind darted about, calculating the value of the baubles and gems worn by both men and women alike. Such pomp, such excess…

It didn’t take long to spot her. She was surrounded by a large crowd of admirers, at least three deep. Over their shoulders he could just make out her golden hair until she turned unexpectedly and caught his eye. She looked beautiful - glowing almost. Her green eyes seemed so alive beneath her simple gold mask, as if she was truly at home in this situation: it was where she belonged.

She dipped her head when she saw him looking her way, he replied with a small smile, resting his arms behind his body and nodding himself. Then the crowd swelled once more and she was gone.

Acquiring a glass of wine was easy, as scores of waiters moved among the crowd. Within minutes of his arrival, the orchestra began to strike up and a section of the floor for dancing was cleared in front of the thrones. King David had slipped into the room, almost unnoticed, and he sat on his gilded wooded chair, deep in conversation with the footman at his side.

Killian slipped back into the silk panels that lined the room. They fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open windows, but the air still felt stiflingly hot so that he was glad to be near the slight coolness the thick, stone walls.

Hidden, he stayed behind the drapes, sipping his wine and watching. The waltz they played was one of the longer dances. The participants were paired off and moved in synchrony, dipping and swaying to the sound of the strings. Silk skirts rustled and sabers jingled against boots. It was almost hypnotic, in a way. He kept looking out for her. He knew her dress was red - he’d seen a flash of it earlier. But she seemed to avoid the dance floor. Most likely occupied elsewhere, he presumed - this ball was in her honor.

The wine quickly drank, a second - livelier - reel begun; he made a decision. It was time to slip away, she had seen him, and he had kept his word. 

But then the silk beside him began to ripple. He paused and waited-

“Captain,” she smiled emerging from behind the panel and handing him a fresh goblet of wine. Slightly stunned, he placed his empty glass on the windowsill to his right and then accepted what she offered.

“Your Highness-“

“Emma,” she insisted, brushing the silk curtain over her shoulder. They were almost hidden from the room, just a small gap from which they could see the couples dance.

Finally he could see her fully. She was wrapped in the deepest crimson silk he had seen in a long time. It was cut close to her body, material pooling lightly between her breasts with tiny capped sleeved providing a modicum of modesty. The effect was stunning. Surely she grew more and more beautiful as the days passed by.

“It is a beautiful ball, Emma. I see how much you were missed.”

“Hardly,” she sighed, lying back against the stone wall that edged the room, “Most of these courtiers just like to spread gossip and try get in good favor with my father. I care more for people who live in the towns and villages and the servants who honor us with their loyalty - for them I hold true affection.”

Killian smiled a little. She would be a wise queen one day. Wise and fair.

“All the same, thank you for the invitation.”

She cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, instead fixing her eyes on the couples dancing. “Dance the next with me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, taken aback by her request.

“I said, will you dance the next with me. You seem like you would be a decent partner, it would be a crime not to test that theory.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little at her playful manner, “I assure you I am a most adept partner, though perhaps a little out of practice.”

“Then it’s settled,” she quipped, walking over to him and pausing by his shoulder, “The next waltz is ours.”

And she slipped her free hand into his arm and led him out into the ballroom.

§

* * *

 

She ignored the questioning looks and incredulous stares from the amassed courtiers. Let them gossip and scheme all they wanted, it was her ball and she would dance with whosoever she pleased.

They took their places at the head of the line of dancers. The men and women gave brief bows and curtseys to their partners as the violin began to play out the first few bars. As Killian stepped forward she felt a little thrill run through her: they had not been so close since the night in the dining room where they had kissed. It was a memory she had replayed countless times over the past few days.

Beneath her hands, his arm and shoulders were firm and inviting. He placed his false hand about her waist - he seemed almost hesitant - she squeezed her fingers into his bicep until he settled and gave her a tense smile.

Was he nervous?

She let him lead. He was a little out of practice, a few times she had to steer him in the right direction or pull him closer when he tried to spin her out, but in all he was a wonderful partner - light footed, considerate and generous in his attentions.

They paused to one side for a moment as another couple went through the dance, “People are watching, Emma-“

“So let them watch,” she whispered, stepping even closer and laying her hand on his chest as she pressed him into back into the dance.

The dipped and pivoted. He kept his lips close to her ear, “So you aren’t ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Why would I?” she asked, confused and startled by his abrupt question.

“Emma…” he cautioned.

“Don’t, Killian-“ She sighed, feeling her earlier happiness deflate a little at his analysis of the situation.

“I’m only thinking of you-“

As he spoke, he dipped her down over his arm, their eyes met and an intense moment passed. He really thought it mattered to her, such little things as rank and reputation. How could she tell him that those were two of the qualities that mattered least to her? So much as she had seen their darker shades in the past few months.

“I’m more than capable of thinking for myself.”

Nodding, he pulled her back into his arms. The rest of the dance passed in relative silence. He was stiffer in his demeanor. They needed to get away…

As the final notes faded, she placed her lips near his ear, “Meet me in two hours. In the eastern stairwell.”

“Emma, I…”

She stilled his words with blazing green eyes. His own blueness dulled a little as he whispered softly, “As you wish.”

 

** Thank you for reading, and thank you to my wonderful beta Ztofan. J x **


	29. Hidden Things - Part 2

For the next couple of hours, Emma nodded and smiled and made small talk with countless courtiers and royals. They had been told the princess had been kidnapped and rescued in a daring effort by secret forces. Thankfully, they did not prod her for details - though she was sure they gossiped freely behind her back. Sometimes feigning feminine delicacy had its advantages.

Every now and then she glanced at the large clock on the southern wall. The ornate minute hand seemed to dither in its movements: time seemed to move at a glacial pace. Her feet itched to skip across the floor and dash into the corridor that sunk deeper into the castle; where he would be waiting. Yet she knew she must wait.

Killian had disappeared soon after their dance. She had expected as much. The past week he seemed to have been avoiding her - taking his meals with the servants and roaming the forest during daylight hours. Since their confrontation with Blackbeard he seemed to have changed so much from the man she had first met. Gone was the sure headed, confident captain, with the arrogant swagger and sure-footed charm, and in his place a much more cautious man who said little and gave away even less in his actions.

It was frustrating.

Emma could not deny, however, her own inner turmoil. Barely a moment had passed where she could sit and reflect on her journey these past months. Certainly, there was no chance to talk to anyone or discuss the details of her missing months. Instead these memories and thoughts brewed inside her, fermenting with the passage of time and forming confused and twisted emotions that played with her heart.

It had little bothered her in the past, her lack of peers and friends to talk and spend time with. Instead she had been occupied happily in her books, learning and riding. But for the past week the internal dialogue of her transformation had tormented her and how she longed for a friendly ear to ease the burden. There was no suitable person to whom she could share her thoughts and feelings with.

Instead she had turned to Honey, her beautiful mare who became so excited when she saw her mistress arrive after so long that she almost kicked her stall door from its hinges. Taking her out for long, leisurely rides was the perfect antidote to the unfamiliar sensation of being cooped up in the castle for hours at end. Together they had explored the plains and villages surrounding them, discovering long forgotten lakes and glens or just ambling in the warm sunlight until evening called her home. In her horse’s ear, she whispered her troubles - her stories and secrets fully disclosed to one who would never be able to betray them, just nuzzle into her neck and provide warm comfort when tears threatened.

Now and then, they had crossed paths with Killian. He always seemed surprised and remained quite proper, even far from the sight of prying eyes. When he would dash away, she would dig her hands into Honey’s mane - and blurt out her frustrations, asking her friend why she cared so much. Not needing a response.

Because deep down, she knew.

§

* * *

Finally it was past eleven.

Her father had retired, the guests were merry on wine and fruit punch.

It was time to slip away.

She darted towards the silk panel-lined walls as the dancing became more jolly, the fiddle playing less polished. Slipping though the fabric panels, she quickly reached a small servants door that led to a service corridor, dashing into the darkness before she could be seen.

The eastern stairwell was only a few minutes away in a disused part of the castle. Her footsteps and beating heart were the only sounds as she moved away from the ballroom - the music from the dancing fading quickly away into nothingness.

Rushing around the final corner, she paused, looked and sighed deeply.

He wasn’t there.

§

* * *

“What are you doing?”

She was barely in the room but the words came bursting forth from her lips. 

Killian was standing at the foot of bed, his coat and vest were tossed upon the neatly folded blanket and his back was to her. He paused his movements when she spoke, slowly turning as she closed the door.

“Emma-“

“You didn’t come. You gave me your word.”

His eyes fell to the smooth, stone floor. She watched as he unbuttoned his white shirt, slightly mesmerized by his skill with only one hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audibly even in the deafening quiet in this part of the castle.

The shirt was quickly removed and tossed aside. She bit her lip at the sight of his bare chest: the scars on his shoulders had faded substantially.

“You are healing well?” It was part statement and part question: her earlier rebuke still hanging in the air.

He smiled briefly, “Aye. Your doctor is skilled indeed.”

“The best in four realms,” she sighed, stepping further into the room.

A strained moment passed as Killian pulled on the black linen shirt he had arrived in. Emma’s eyes darted around his small quarters, trying to afford him some privacy, but failing to stop her small glances his way.

“Were your new garments uncomfortable?” she asked, suddenly a little nervous and desperately trying to think of the right thing to say.

He began to push the shirt into the waistband of his trousers, “No your highness, they were fine and-“

“Emma,” she reminded him. He glanced at her, his face blank, his lips pulled in a straight line, and nodded.

“Emma,” he echoed.

She watched, a little awkwardly as he ran his fingers through his hair and slowly folded the discarded shirt before finally turning to face her.

“I’m sorry-“

“You already said that.” 

Another step closer and he was almost within reach. He flinched, sucking in a breath and leaning back a little. “Killian, what has changed? Why do you pull away from me so?”

The pain in her words caused her voice to crack, becoming more graveled as she spoke, his face responding with a pained expression that caught her breath.

“Nothing has changed, but things have become clear to me.”

“What things?” she asked.

His hand slipped to the back of his neck, squeezing it a few times as he moistened his lips and closed the gap between them. Reaching out, he placed his palm on her silk-covered shoulder. It was warm and she instinctively dipped her head so her cheek lay against it.

“Emma - the way I feel for you…” he trailed off and seemed to pause and gather his thoughts, “I never believed in such things. I thought stories of yearning and want for another were mere fairy tales - falsehoods. Until I met you.”

With a small gasp, she felt a dart of pleasure ripple through her body.

She  _meant_  something to him. She wanted to smile, tilt her head and kiss his palm - but he stilled her with his next words.

“But what one wants, or even needs, cannot always be. A bird and a fish may fall in love, your highness, but where would they live?”

_He loves me?_ She thought, her head spinning, dizziness growing, the words racing around her mind, his touch becoming unbearably hot-

“I’d make them a nest and float it upon the seas,” she muttered into his hand.

“You see the world too simply, love,” he sighed, pulling away from her and reaching for his leather belt, slowly threading it through the loops in his trousers.

Anger brewed. He seemed so empty now, so shallow and without substance. What made him ‘him’ was missing and resentment began to surge forth. “And that is it? That is all the explanation I am to expect??”

Emma’s heart began to pound. Was he ignoring her? 

His nimble fingers tied the belt in as good a time as any man. She waited, chest burning, for him to respond. But he wouldn’t look at her again. Maybe he was afraid?

“I’d sell my soul to make things different between the two of us, for all that blackened instrument is worth.”

“You have a low opinion of yourself,” Emma whispered, wandering over to the bed and sitting down, feeling slightly drunk, though she had only had one glass of wine.

“A deserved one. I will not sully your reputation, princess.”

Who was this man, she thought, burying her fingers in the soft silk of her skirt and listening as he shuffled around the room behind her. He was so at odds with the man she had come to know and respect and…love-

“Where did Captain Hook go? Killian Jones? I do not recognize the man before me. He is a stranger with whom I am unacquainted.” Her words were soft, but with a desperate edge. She turned to face him, but her eyes fixed on his discarded clothing, focusing on the small buttons and fine stitches - each detail seeming to mock her sorrow as her heart began to silently crack.

“He’s here - I’m still the pirate - the villain. You forget that. You see me as-“ He met her eyes as he paused, staring deep into the bottomless blue - looking for some kind of answer that would calm her swelling emotions.

“And so you just run,” she retorted tartly, her words icy and clipped.

“And you expected different?” he replied, with unexpected harshness, his hand gripping the raised wooden foot of the bed, glaring at her hotly as she left her examinations of his clothing. “Why do you even care, Princess?”

The moniker he chose once again, shot deep into her, shattering all previous intimacy she kept inside. He was pushing her away, forcing her back and closing his mind and heart.

“You stubborn ass!” she cried, standing and marching to where he stood, “Back and forth we go. You make love to me! Make me feel what no one ever has before! You open your heart and then nothing? I can’t let this go-“

“You must,” he whispered, letting her touch his linen covered arm but flinching a little all the same.

“Killian.”

His eyes slipped closed when she spoke his name.

“You are a good man.”

“I am nothing but a harbinger of death and despair.”

Killian turned his shoulder back towards the window, but Emma caught his handless arm and he stopped.

“No you are not. For all your reputation, I see no evil in you - not a man who is unwilling to show mercy or sense. You are more than a label, Killian, more than a whispered tale. I’ve seen that.”

His muscles slackened a little in her touch. He didn’t speak, instead he was looking at her hands on his arms. So she continued.

“I’ve been running away for so long. I thought being a queen was all sacrifice and living up to something unattainable. But that’s all false. I thought my parents had this fairytale romance to which I could never aspire - yet here I see them struggling with problems I can’t even conceive to comprehend. I thought being royal meant following a set of rules to which I had no control - but you know what, Killian? Do you know what I learned?”

Killian looked up.

“I made it all up in my head. I’d talked myself into this corner where I saw no escape. But now I understand my position is a privilege, and perfection? It’s a lie - a myth. I’m as human as anyone else and I-“

He cut her off with a kiss. His hand grabbed her chin, his lips were cool, yet burning with desire.

Her anger began to melt.

“Stop-“ she muttered against his mouth, pressing her palms onto his shoulders and gasping as he pulled her hips close. “What-“

“I love you, Emma. I’ve buried the words and thoughts for weeks now. I know not when it started - I see no end. Never have I felt like this.”

“You do?” she cried, her heart swelling, her hands grasping his face.

“Of course,” he whispered into her neck.

§

* * *

The words had spilled forth. Every feeling he had restrained was unleashed. She wouldn’t give up on him. She had pushed and pulled and prodded – Gods, she was stubborn.

She was everything he needed. He couldn’t deny it.

“I’ve loved you for longer than I have even known,” he admitted.

Emma was frozen, almost lost in the moment. His arms around her waist pulled her tight.

His resistance was futile, useless…

“And I too,” she replied breathlessly.

His heart sunk, slipping through his body, melting almost, as she held him tighter.

“But we have no future-“ he began.

As an outlaw, a criminal, how could he ever be seen to love one such as her? Such a precious gem in the royal crown?

“Trust me,” she urged, studying his eyes, her own glassy and wide.

And he did.

That dam of emotion he had built to protect himself, collapsed as she kissed him again. Everything became a blur.

Clothing was removed quickly. He groaned when his hand grasped her waist. The silk added an extra layer of sensation - one that demanded time and worship. But she tugged and pulled at his clothing, urging him towards the bed until she was left just in her silk chemise and him in his leather trousers.

“Are you sure?” he panted against her ear.

Resisting her was pointless, he knew that now. He was either hers or nothing.

“Of nothing have I ever been more so,” she promised, “Everything is clear now. I was meant to meet you Killian. It was fate.”

§

* * *

All her hidden feelings spilled forth. His closeness was overwhelming. She knew now, how she felt, what she needed -

Her time away from the kingdom had developed within her a  hardy  soul - one that could weather any storm. And more importantly, one that knew itself.

“I love you,” she whispered again. “I love you, I-“

A kiss befell her lips. His hand gathered up the silk of her chemise and slipped it over her head. She was naked now, but never had she felt more complete . 

His hand was on her, her fingers untied his trousers and pushed them down - their kiss not breaking - as mutual hands did their job.

“Do you want me Killian? Do you really love me?”

“Yes!” he groaned against her neck, “Yes, a thousand times, yes-“

Emma fell back on the bed, baring her body to him - for the first time  without the haze of alcohol . His eyes freely studied her, his mouth dropping open and her cheeks reddening in a heady blush.

A hand ran up her thigh and she shivered. 

“I need you,” she said in a whispy breath, arching her hips up and wrapping her legs around his knees until her tumbled on top of her.

“Emma-“

“Take me Killian - please - show me some feeling, some hope, some-“

He entered her without ceremony or preparation, though thank God she was slick enough in anticipation.

His hot skin met hers in a beautiful symphony of sensation.

“Oh Emma,” he began, his voice breaking as he nuzzled into her neck.

“Love me,” she urged, letting her mind become blank.

It had never felt this way.

Stolen moments with a stable boy or a guardsman had initiated her into this world of bodies and love, but Killian Jones had shown her its mastership.

His hand cradled her face. His lips nipped at her shoulder. His hips rocked - measured but delicate in their movements - teetering her on the edge of oblivion.

“Emma-“ he moaned. “God take me-"

And she felt it in his voice. All he had concealed and hidden, all his love and desire.

“Let go,” she urged as their bodies melded together.

Oh gods, how was she so close, so quickly?

He faltered. She took her chance, rolling him over and pressing his body against the mattress, running her hands up his arms so he was pinned beneath her.

She ground into his hips -his hardness greeting her body in ways she had never imagined. He felt so deep and full and perfect she knew not how to react. Emma bit her lip, balled her fists on his chest, felt his hand and hook still her waist-

His breathing was thick and rapid and shaking. “Emma, my love, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

She muttered her words like an oath, “I love you, so much, I love you, I love you-“

Shuddering against her. His hands tightened.

Looking in her eyes, his release seemed to spark. His hips flinched.

The look he gave, banished her last restraint. She rippled around him as he released himself inside her body without hesitation.

Everything spun. The air was cold, then hot, then cold again.

Then all was still.

Falling to their sides, they lay cradling each other, staring deep in each other’s eyes as slow seconds passed.

“I love you,” he whispered, as her eyelids fluttered closed and the world seemed to stop. Just for a moment.

And all there was was he and she.

_**A/N Almost the end. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and following xxx** _


	30. Beneath it all

**A/N - Thank you to everyone who has followed, read, left kudos, reviewed or messaged me about this fic. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**

**And without further ado.**

**The final chapter...**

Having slipped away early from the previous evening’s festivities, David woke before dawn broke and headed to the stables. His footman helped him quickly saddle his favorite mare and just as the sun came over the horizon bringing with it a haze of dusky golds and pinks, he left the castle grounds in a cloud of dust.

Galloping through the forest and out into the open fields to the east, he breathed in the clean, fresh air of a new day. This was when he did his best thinking - out in the open, alone and free. And in the past days, he had had much thinking to do.

So many questions now hounded him, but answers were elusive. The joy of seeing his daughter was still strongly felt; he had not quite realized how much one could love a child until she had disappeared. But the simultaneous reappearance of a wife, long thought dead - well, that was quite the different matter. And one which he had yet to resolve.

Early that afternoon, he had taken to the state room, ready to receive his daily updates from his chief advisors. Nothing of consequence, to be truthful, as was the case at most of these meetings. Indeed they were something more of a habit, a way of passing the time, that he had fallen into over the years. They had lessened the time he had to dwell on matters beyond his control and mourn the loss of a woman whom he loved more than his own life. A life that had faded somewhat in importance when she had vanished.

The men were dismissed once their reports were delivered and David prepared to retire to his library. A knock on the door disrupted his plan and instead he rose, announcing, “Come in.”

In came a manservant, holding a silver tray bearing a folded piece of parchment, sealed with blue wax. David took the note and dismissed the man, slipping his finger under the seal as he walked over to the tall windows that spanned one wall of the room.

Quickly, his eyes scanned the flowing script, drinking in the words hungrily, hastening as he read more.

‘ _The ball…recognized…Jones…Jolly Roger…_ _Captain Hook-_

_-PIRATE.”_

He stared at the paper for a few moments, sinking in its meaning before crumpling it in his hands.

“Emma-“

§

* * *

 

From the balcony of her chambers there was a clear view across the kingdom, over the dense forest and to the plains in the east, with their lush green grass and fields of waving wheat and corn.

Killian stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and chin resting against her shoulder. Such an achingly simple gesture but one she never wanted to end.

“I hadn’t realized how much I missed this place, you know.”

Killian softly kissed her cheek and held her a little closer, “We always yearn for home, love.”

Emma turned back to look at him - her lover, her friend - “And you? What of your home?”

“A story for another day, lass.”

Yes, they could talk of sorry tales another day - enough sadness had passed by them for a lifetime, so she became quiet, looking out on her kingdom, happy in his arms.

“When did you know you loved me?” she asked, a toying smile playing at the edges of her lips.

Behind her, Killian chuckled, intertwining their fingers as he twirled her round to face him. “That’s quite the question, love.”

“I want to know. I want to know everything…”

She looked up into his sapphire eyes and was happy to see a new lightness in them, a kind of freeness and hope that she didn’t recognize. It suited him.

“And there is much time for that. If you wish me to be a part of your life now, that is,  _your highness_.”

With her free arm she swatted his chest, collapsing into fits of girlish giggles as he lifted her up and twirled her around, her heavy skirts billowing about them until he let her down and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Sorry, _Emma_. Old habits and all.”

“Thank goodness, sire, I should hope you would not take issue with my being royalty, especially since-“ She broke off, her cheeks coloring.

“Since?” he asked, his voice rising in a teasing manner.

“You know, Killian, since you and I-“

They were interrupted by the sound of her bedroom door being thrown open, the underused hinges betraying their intruder.

“Who goes there-“ Emma called out, Killian pulling her against him in a protective gesture.

“Emma-“ her father’s voice clearly reverberated around the stone walls. He came into the room with heavy steps, striding towards the two - his face firmly set. “Emma, step away from him.”

She turned to look at Killian, her brow creased.

“Get your hands off my daughter,  _pirate.”_

As he spoke, he put his hands on the sabre at his side, ready to draw. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. Quickly she lay across Killian, spreading out her arms.

“Father, stop. You don’t understand-“

David took a step closer, “Oh I understand this man. He has lied to you. He is a pirate, a scourge, a-“

“Stop. Please, stop.” Emma’s voice strained with emotion. Killian had a firm grip of her waist - she could hear his heavy breathing behind her. “I know,” she whispered.

Her father’s face dropped. Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to one side. “What?”

_“_ I know who he is. I lied to you - we, lied. I’ve known all along.”

David looked downwards, his hand faltered at his sword.

“You knew?” he whispered. “You brought a pirate - a criminal - into our home?” His voice was measured but she detected an undercurrent of disappointment. Behind her, Killian tensed.

“Whatever he is - was - it matters not. His part in my return remains unchanged.”

A few terse seconds ticked by, though they seemed much longer when measured by the beat of her heart. Finally, her father looked up.

“Emma - whatever he has said to you, whatever he has done - men of his sort cannot be trusted,“ David sighed. “If he has aided in your return as you say I will grant him safe passage back to his ship, but he must leave, now.”

She peeled Killian’s hand from her waist and stepped forward to place her own hand on her father’s arm, whispering, “Father, you don’t understand. I love him.”

David recoiled a little from his daughter’s touch, his face crumpling as he looked from pirate to princess. “Daddy-“

The king’s jaw clenched. He refused to meet her eye. “He’s a pirate. An outlaw. How could you-“ his voice was almost growling, “How…”

Behind her, Killian shifted, “I should go-“

“No, Killian. He stays, Father. I love him. He’s brave and loyal and-“

David looked up and the words died in her throat. Gone was the strong man who taught her a love of books and the meaning of honor. He looked older, worn. Beneath his eyes the skin was greying and hollowed. For the first time, she noticed how his shirt had begun to swamp his frame and the flecks of white in his hair.

“Is this what - who - you truly want?  _Him_?” Emma held her breath and tightened her grasp on Killian’s fingers.

“Father-“ she cried, her voice cracking.

“You could choose any suitor - any man in all the kingdoms - and you choose an outlaw.” It was so quiet, she could firmly her the beating of her heart. Before she could reply, he continued, “I must go-“

He left as quickly as he arrived. The tears she had held back started to peal down her face. Bundling her into his arms, Killian walked her over to her bed, sitting and holding her close until she felt ready to speak.

“He hates me,” she mutters.

“He hates _me,_  love,” Killian countered as he wiped away a stray tear

“You can’t hate someone you don’t know.” She looked up and touched his face, the one she had come to know so well and love so deeply. “I will speak to him. He will understand.”

Killian dropped his forehead to hers, “And what if he doesn’t?”

She rolled her chin forward, kissing him lightly, “He has to."

§

* * *

 

Sitting in his darkened library, King David began to quietly brood over recent events. When had his life became so confusing? He had tried to so long to be a good and fair king and a father of whom his daughter could be proud. But it had all came crashing down in such a short time.

His daughter and a pirate?

God, of all the futures he had wished for her, this was never within the realm of possibility.

“Father?”

Emma’s whispered question was greeted with no answer, but she still slipped into the room and quietly walked over to where he sat.

“Father?” she asked again.

David looked up, his mouth firm set and his fingers pressing into the arms of his chair. “Emma, I need some time alone. To think.”

“Daddy-“

He blinked his eyes closed at the way her voice trembled as she spoke. He bent his head down as he heard her fall to her knees in front of him and grasp his right hand within her own. “Daddy, look at me.”

So he did. And he didn’t see the same girl who had left the castle - that young princess; educated, polished, naive.

“Have you grown?” he whispered.

“Not on the outside,” she replied, pressing her fingers tighter and laying her cheek on top of their hands. “I missed you, Father.”

“And I you, love,” he stopped and took a deep breath. A wave of emotion was threatening to overcome him - that one he had resisted since she had returned.

She took a few deep breaths, listening to the gentle chimes of the mantle clock, “Have you heard from my stepmother?” she asked, not quite ready to broach the real reason for her return.

“She delays her return again, though her father is improving.”

“That is good news…” The words she had to say became stuck in her throat. God, she did not want to disappoint him, her loving father, her first love- “Daddy, I do love him, you know. I know it sounds crazy to you. I know you are disappointed-“

“Emma you can never disappoint me.” Her lips touched the back of his hand and he felt some of his earlier anger dissolve. “It’s just not what I wanted for you.”

“You didn’t want me to find love?”

“No, my darling,” he replied, cupping her cheek with his other hand, “Love is something I always desired for you, of course. But with someone worthy.”

“He is,” she pleaded, rolling up on her knees so they were face to face, “Oh father, if you truly knew him… It has taken me some time to know the man beneath the facade, but he is worthy - more than worthy. He is noble and strong and-“

Seeing Emma’s passionate entreaty for another made him smile despite himself. Suddenly he was struck with a memory of the same look, on the face of her mother, when she had fought for the right to marry him, when her own father had resisted the match. The same yearning was evident in her eyes and the same passion tumbled out in her words.

“What has happened to my daughter?” he wondered.

“Am I that much changed?”

Held in the spell of his daughter’s sparkling gaze, he sighed resignedly, “Yes. Now more than ever I can see your mother in you. I can see the great queen you will one day be.”

Emma blushed at his words. God he loved his daughter so much it pained him. 

“Not for many years,” she assured him, before adding quietly, “And I hope with the man of my choosing by my side as consort.”

“You’re not to be swayed from this position? He means that much to you?”

“Second only to mother and yourself, he has ingrained himself in my heart. I didn’t think it possible,” she admitted, looking down at their joined hands, “I’d resigned myself to a marriage of convenience. Until I knew that would crush my very soul. And that is why I ran. Mother and you…” she looked around the room, seemingly searching for the right words, “I always thought your love  was the perfect ideal and something I could never aspire to.”

At the mention of Snow, David’s heart constricted. “Well, these things are never quite as they appear-“

“Exactly! And when I stopped trying to compare myself with something impossible-“ she ran her thumb over his fingers, “That’s when I opened my heart.”

“You really love him?”

“Yes.”

Silently, he pulled her close and held her, cradling her head just like he had when she was a child. 

“And he loves you?”

“I think-“ she blushed, balling her fingers in her father’s shirt. “Please just give him a chance Father, that’s all I ask.”

“Well if you wish him to be part of our family-“

“We haven’t discussed marriage, Father.” He watched his daughter’s eyelashes flutter. “This is all very new…”

David pressed his lips into her hair and kissed her softly. “I cannot deny you, love. Bring him to me.”

§

* * *

 

When she returned her eyes were reddened and her dress crumpled. He feared the worst, his heart sinking until she ran forth and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a yearning kiss that said enough.

He had held her for some time, just enjoying her closeness and quietening the maddening voices in his head that had tormented him in her absence.

“I must prove myself, love.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me!” she insisted, firmly grasping his shoulders.

Killian smiled. “Perhaps not to you - but to myself and more importantly your family. You must see how they think of me - how all good society do. I will not sully your reputation, lass.”

“I don’t care-“

“But I do.” He toyed with her golden strands of hair as he continued, “I have debts to repay, business to settle. Matters of conscience to attend to.”

“You are not to be dissuaded, I see.”

He laughed lightly, “We are both of us stubborn, lass.”

“Aye,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, “That we are.”

§

* * *

 

Once more she found herself at the docks: Killian’s ship having been brought into the harbor and moored. But not, this time, was she in worn salty breeches, but instead in a thick wool gown, covered with a heavy brocade cloak. 

It was early. Her father and Killian had agreed that his departure should be low key, with as few as possible to witness. It was best his connection to the royal family was not yet revealed, lest his crew be placed in danger.

She looked over the ship. Its new white sails were proudly silhouetted against the amber sky. The previous red and green colors of the Jolly had been replaced with a livery of blue and gold, almost resembling that of the kingdom. Her father had offered assistance with the overhaul of the ship but Killian had insisted on paying from his own pocket. Keen to prove himself from the outset as a suitor, not one seeking monetary reward.

Emma smiled, as her love - _her lover_  she blushed, walked down the gang plank, with his new  navy blue  uniform so handsome on his lithe form. Behind him, Smee fussed and read animatedly from a list of parchment. But Killian, it seemed, had only eyes for her.

She walked away from her parents - out of their earshot - and met him in the shade of the ship’s hull. Her hands went to his arms, pressing them tight while she searched his eyes. “You promise you will be back?”

His simple smile was enough to make her heart break. “You have my word, Emma. And my love.”

Still when he called her his love it made her want to explode in happiness. In the past week they had exchanged the sentiment possibly a thousand times, but it never lessened in its impact.

“And you mine,” she promised.

They stepped apart when Smee cleared his throat, Killian raising a brow as his subordinate mumbled.

“Speak up, Mr. Smee.”

The crewman blushed, looking nervously at Emma as he played with the piece of parchment in his hands. She couldn’t help but laugh a little. Ever since she had returned with Killian to the ship to begin the preparation, Mr. Smee had behaved quite strangely. He had known for some time now she was royalty, but somehow the royal garb and accompanying protective guard had made him truly believe she was a princess and consequently not quite know how to act in her presence.

“I said, the tide will be gone within the half hour, sir, we must make haste.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, nodding as he turned back to her. For a few moments, they just looked at one another - Emma trying to memorize every detail of his face, etching it on her memory for she knew not how long it would be until they would be seen again. Killian had promised her no more than a twelvemonth, but oh, that seemed a torturous length of time.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered into her ear. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he led her closer to the bow. A sheet had been draped over the stern. “Now lads!” he called up to the deck and with a flourish, the covering was pulled away and underneath laid a glittering name plate.

‘ _The White Swan’_

Quickly, she glanced back at Killian, he was chewing on his lip, his thumb slung in his belt.

“You renamed your ship? I thought that was bad luck-“

She gasped when his hand circled her waist and tugged her tight to his body, “I’ll take my chances,” he replied.

Leaning closer, she whispered, “ _The White Swan_?” raising her brows. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental kind.”

“Perhaps I am,” he murmured, kissing her with all his heart, pressing his fingers into her skin, almost taking the very breath from her lungs with his passion. For a few, precious moments she let herself forget their coming separation and the inevitable pain and instead to swim in his love and remind herself why they had come to these crossroads and all he was willing to do for her.

She peppered his lips with small, urgent kisses as he peeled himself away from her. “Write to me?” she asked, her voice sounding too high and slightly panicked.

“As often as I can,” he promised, brushing back a windswept tendril of her hair.

He turned to leave.

“Killian!” she cried, gripping his arm tighter, wanting just one more moment.

Their eyes met. She tried to commit the shade of blue to her memory, but she knew it would be but a poor imitation of their luster.

“I love you,” she whispered, fearing her voice was lost in the growing wind.

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips, “Then let me make myself worthy, my love. Hold me in your heart, for there, I know I am safe.”

Her chest sank as he finally turned back to the ship. The gang plank was withdrawn as soon as he reached the top. The new crew rushed about the deck - pulling up the anchor and stretching out the sails as she heard him call out commands, his voice strong even in the growing storm.

She watched  _The White Swan_  move away from its berth. She stayed there, until it was no more than a dot on the horizon, a feeling of sadness mixed with hope filling her chest as she grasped the swan pendant around her neck - the very thing that had truly brought them together - kissing it softly as the ship finally disappeared from sight.

“You have my heart, Killian Jones. Come back to me,” she whispered.

**_THE END_ **

**A/N So that's it. The pirate determined to redeem himself as his princess waits...**

**As if I'd leave it there.**

**-Watch out for the epilogue and the upcoming sequel 'Beyond the Spiring Towers'**


	31. Epilogue

Watching the ship disappear over the horizon, Snow's heart felt heavy. In front of her, her daughter stood still, staring ahead with her body rigid. She felt the loss radiate from her. The pain of separation was a familiar one to the queen.

"Do you think he will come back?"

She turned to her right where David stood, an arms width away. They hadn't spoken since they had arrived at the docks, instead standing quietly side by side, trying to pretend that everything was normal.

"I hope so," was her honest reply.

And she did hope.

The daughter who she thought she had lost had grown into a woman she was proud of and for whom she wanted the world, for one always wants better for their children, she told herself. And she had made such shambles of her own life that she held onto the hope that retribution for her own soul could be achieved, perhaps in some way, by her love for her child.

"She really loves him, doesn't she?" he sighed unexpectedly. For a brief second their eyes met. It was the first time they had truly looked at each other since she had returned. His watery blue eyes bore all the sadness and resent she had feared, but there was a softness to their expression that caught a breath in her throat. It was almost as he used to look at her, half a lifetime ago,

Looking down, she pulled her cloak tighter as a shiver ran through her body. "Aye, that she does."

§

* * *

_Some months later_

A strange kind of peace had came over her life since he had left. With frightening ease, she had slipped back into palace life. It was almost as if she had never left.

Almost.

Her stepmother had returned a month earlier, taking up residence in her quarters with few visitors admitted. She knew her father had gone to her, she had heard them- Anya's shrill cries of frustration and his hushed attempts at stilling her anger. Pity for her father filled her heart, but she could not be untouched by Anya's situation.

She had taken to playing chess with her father again on an evening. He was amused at how determined she had become and as they played they discussed the state of the kingdom and what had occurred in her absence.

A few days after Anya returned, she couldn't help but ask, "Father, have you… Have you decided how to resolve the matter of my mother?"

David paused, a pawn dangling between finger and thumb, a heavy sigh coming from his chest. "It is complicated sweetheart."

Emma reached over and took the chess piece from her father, he looked up and she saw written on his face the conflict inside him. "But it must be resolved."

He nodded. "Yes, I have my best scribes scouring the law library as we speak, seeking an answer. It is quite without precedence, Emma."

Feeling bold, she handed back the pawn and leaned across the board, "What does your heart tell you, father?"

Brow creased, he moved the piece back to the board, "To be truthful, it tells me that matters of love and honour are rarely congruent."

And after giving his daughter a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes he said softly, "Your turn."

§

* * *

Snow was now living in quarters in the same wing as Emma's - her previous apartment now occupied by the new queen. These new rooms had lain empty for many years, but after a buzz of activity from the palace staff, they were quickly transformed into a comfortable place where Emma spent much time.

The women talked at great length; Emma sharing stories of the past ten years and her mother regaling her with tales of her exploits as she learned to live and survive in a less than welcoming environment. With schooled skill, however, they both avoided delving too deep. The pain was still a little raw and the healing process slow, but she was thankful for this second chance to be a daughter once more with both parents, no matter how complicated the situation may be.

Sitting together one morning in the queen's quarters, there was a knock on the door. A servant entered carrying a large wooden crate.

"A parcel for her highness," he announced, glancing at the younger woman as Snow gestured for him to place the box inside the living room where they sat.

"Do you think it's from Killian?" she asked, her heart beating an excited rhythm in her chest as she gingerly stood.

"Perhaps."

Emma walked over, circling the crate, imagining what he could have sent for her. His letters were frequent enough. She slept with them under her pillow and read them time and time again when the separation became too much. But as of yet, his correspondence had been limited to that of the pen.

There was a simple lock, covered in wax to ensure it would not be tampered with. Using her thumb, she picked away at the solid blue seal. Underneath was a knot of thick rope, which she quickly untied and pulled away.

She looked up and gave her mother a small smile.

Flicking up the lid, she looked inside. There was a thick, grey wool blanket covering the contents. Eagerly, she pulled it away. Instantly a pungent smell filled her nose and she recoiled, feeling a little nauseous until she held her breath and looked again.

It was a swan, with snow white feathers, curled in the box.

Dead.

"What…"

Then she looked closer. In the breast of the animal a silver dagger had been staked - a trickle of blood running down the pure feathers where it had pierced the flesh. Reaching forward she pulled it from the bird, lifting it up into the light. It glinted softly, the blade streaked red with blood. But on the handle there was an inscription carved in looping script.

_E. Teach_

She heard footsteps beside her, and a soft gasp from her mother's mouth.

"Emma…"

Swallowing deeply, the princess let the dagger drop to the floor with a clatter and let out a shuddering breath.

"Blackbeard. It's Blackbeard. He's back."

_**To be continued...** _


	32. Midnight Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!  
> So, I missed these two fools and needed to get in the frame of mind for getting the sequel going properly (my muse has been all over the place recently!). So here is a 'missing' chapter, set just before Killian leaves to redeem himself.

Hands shaking, she fastened the silk covered buttons of her gown.

The sun was dipping below the horizon and with it, her heart began to sink. By the time it rose again, he would be on his way. For how long, she knew not.

Already, she could feel the looming sense of loneliness and loss that she knew would consume her in his absence.

It was a topic of conversation that she had stubbornly refused to dwell on in the preceding few days. He had promised her he would return quickly - that his business would not part them for any longer than necessary. Yet his reluctance to share further details on how he would be, as he said, ‘redeeming himself’ had made her wary.

What if he did not return? What if, she thought with a sudden start, he decided it had been a mistake - that _she_ was a mistake? He could easily disappear into the vastness of the ocean… Her breath caught as this new idea began to spiral in significance in her confused mind.

There was a soft click of a lock opening behind her. She knew without looking, it was him. Within a second, he was at her back, his hand clutching her hip through the gauzy material, his lips dancing over the skin of her neck.

“My love…” he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You’re late,” she replied curtly, resisting the urge to sink her body back into his.

“Apologies, milady, a boat can at times be a very demanding mistress.”

She froze, his words ringing in her ears.

_Mistress._

Perhaps that’s all _she_ was to him? An aside, a brief interlude, easily replaced-

She clenched her fists tightly.

“Emma, are you okay?”

Taking the few steps to her bed, she took hold of one of the elaborately carved posts that held up the blue silk canopy and hugged it tightly.

“Emma,” he asked again, his voice brimming with concern.

“I just-” she began, feeling all at once foolish and scared.

“What?”

He slipped around her until he stood on the other side of the post, his intense blue eyes pulling her into his gaze.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to think rationally. Where had this panic emerged from? Just a day ago she had been sure, so sure of him and _them_.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, pressing her fingers into the dark wood until the skin on her fingertips blanched.

Slipping his hand up to her shoulder, he squeezed gently. “Of what, love?”

“I don’t even know,” she replied, tears just on the verge of falling, her hands sinking to her sides in defeat. “I feel so lost.”

“I’m here,” he promised, bundling her into his arms, letting her cling to his shirt as though if she let go, he would disappear.

///

H e’d never seen her like this. So quiet and withdrawn. It was so unlike her, he felt a painful shift in his gut as she held onto him.

“What if you forget me?” she asked in a small voice.

The pain inside him deepened.

“How could I forget you? My life didn’t really begin until we met.”

Perhaps it sounded trite, but it was the truth. For so many years he had lived in a fog of self-pity and single mindedness. It had taken her to make him see the light - to see that life could be more, that new beginnings can be found even in the darkest of times.

“I can’t lose you Killian,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“You won’t,” he promised. Emma lifted her head, seeming more composed that when he had happened upon her, but there was still uncertainty there.

“How can you be sure? Life changes quickly, Killian, we both know that. You won’t tell me what the matters are that you have to resolve - that take you away from me, you give vague answers when I ask how long you will be gone-“

He stops her with a finger to her lips. “And that’s why I need you to trust me. As I trust you. I _will_ return and we _will_ be together."

Her reaction to his words was guarded. She looked aside, across her shoulder. He could see more was troubling her.

“I do trust you,” she whispered, and he felt a spring of hope grow again, “It’s just,” and she sighed, “Perhaps when we are separated, you may get lonely. And I’ve seen the ports that boats frequent. I know what goes on-“

“Emma,” he cried, needing to immediately wipe her mind of such ideas, grabbing her shoulders with enough force to send her gaze whipping back to him in an instant. “How could you ever think such a thing? I love you. _You_ are all I want. Could _ever_ want.”

A flicker of a smile danced over her face.

“But when we are apart, will a mere memory sate you?”

He closed his eyes for a second, and let his mind fill with the thoughts of her that he carried around with him. Her smile, her laugh, the way she walked, the sounds she made when he brought her to the heights of ecstasy, the rhythm of her breathing when she slept by his side.

“Lass, one mere memory of you, is far finer than any other woman I have encountered before.” He dropped his hands to her waist, tugging her hips towards his, his gaze darkening as he felt the want for her rise, knowing that this would be the last time he touched her, _tasted_ her for some time to come. “In any case, perhaps tonight we both need to create some new memories? Ones that will fuel both of us - you, lonely in this bed in a dark and empty castle, and me, adrift on some far-flung ocean with merely a motley crew for company.”

Killian gave her a melancholy smile as he laced each word with desire, each syllable rolled around his mouth as though it was her he was caressing, every sound becoming tainted with his need for her.

“I’d like that very much,” she whispered, fingering the fastenings of his shirt as she looked up at him with glistening eyes.

Dropping his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, he whispered, “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Many times,” she blushed.

“But never enough,” he replied, nipping at the base of her neck, his teeth catching the bare skin, his fingers dipping into the neckline of the sheer white gown she wore. “Did you wear this for me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted, rocking her hips forward to press harder against his. The material left little to the imagination. But, God, he foresaw little use for garments for either of them this evening.

“Oh, love, you know how to taunt a man. Are you sure you aren’t an enchantress?” She laughed lightly, her voice becoming a gasp as he laid a trail of kisses across her neck, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Beneath the gown she was so warm and soft, her every contour clearly visible and heartily enjoyed as she crushed herself against him. He gathered the material between his fingers, finding the parting at the front and the tiny silk covered buttons that closed it.

“Will you miss me?” she suddenly asked.

“Oh Emma…” He sighed, “Every hour, I will burn, I will ache, I will yearn - for you.” He took her hand and began pressing his lips to each fingertip in turn. “Your touch will haunt me, my skin will burn with the memory of it. For before you, I was blind, love-“

His fingers released her hand and slid down to begin undoing the buttons of the gown. Slowly, one by one.

“And you?” he asked, almost with a juvenile hesitance, for their love was passionate, but still young and as forthright as she could be, his lovely Emma was still a little bashful in some areas of lovemaking.

Grasping his biceps, she lay back a little against the bed, baring the fresh skin of her decollate. “I shall be incomplete, my love, until your hand is once more in mine, until our tongues are entwined in a reunion kiss - until,” she paused and trailed a finger down the skin that his half open shirt exposed, her eyes wavering as they tried to hold his gaze, “Until I feel you inside me once more.”

“Love,” he groaned, “You know not what you do when you speak such words to me.

She took in a short breath, seemingly emboldened by the effect her speech had had on him. “You like it when I talk of such things?”

“Aye love, so very, _very_ much.”

Her hand began to slide down his chest, fingers scraping against the skin and picking apart buttons as they went. “Perhaps, I should tell you how much I love you naked. The hair of your chest pressed against mine - oh, I love the way it feels against my breasts.”

His shirt was tossed to the ground as he drifted into a deep state of arousal, one that was rendering rational thought more difficult by the second.

“They’re very powerful words, you use, love.”

“So I am learning; but not intimidating, if wielded correctly.”

“Indeed,” he whispered against her lips trying to snatch a kiss, before she pulled her mouth away. Soft hands glided over his chest, his breath hitching with the shivers her touch evoked. This confidence she was displaying kindling a deep desire in his gut. “Go on.”

///

It was not that her earlier trepidation has subsided. It still lingered, but she loved him and trusted him - despite the flutters of dissent in her heart. And for that, she knew that the only balm to her now was his presence and passion, for those feelings and sensations she would gather now would last her many a lonely night.

Emma looked through her lashes at him, biting on her bottom lip as she slid her palms lower, across the muscles of his stomach, to the waistband of his trousers that were currently beginning to tent with her each caress.

“I love this,” she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering a little shyly as she cupped his hardness, memorizing its warmth and fullness in her palm, pressing her lips against his chest as her other fingers picked apart the fastening of the heavy cotton trousers that were stained with the remains of a hard days labor. “I-“she paused, nuzzling at his chest, “I love you - all of you.”

Her teeth nipped at his chest, causing him to wince a little as she toyed with each section of bared skin, before soothing it with her tongue.

“My love-“ he stuttered, his guttural sigh flooding heat straight to her loins, a flush of satisfaction bruising her cheeks as she grasped his hips with her small hands and steered him around towards the waiting blankets of her bed.

“Before you,” she whispered into his neck as she pushed away his pants, “My life was monochrome - I saw only the opposing sensations of responsibility and freedom.”

She grasped his ass as her mouth pressed against his neck. She could feel his pulse reverberating against her lips, beating the same passionate rhythm as her own.

“And now?” he asked, the vibration of his deep voice cutting straight into her.

Kissing a trail up the centre of his neck, she met his sea blue eyes and smiled, “Now I see the rainbow of possibility.”

His eyes slanted dreamily, a matching smile on his lips, the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach that he gave her, still a surprise. Like the first time. Like always.

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighed as she pushed him back onto the too soft mattress - the one that she still found difficult to sleep on; sometimes, instead, Killian pooling their blankets on the floor, cocooning his body around her.

“You’re a fool,” she laughed lightly, crawling up onto his body, settling herself above him.

“Only for you,” he replied, rocking up his hips, pushing the thin material of her gown behind her.

And then words seemed trite. Only touch and caress seemed appropriate.

He reached upwards, pulling her into dizzying kiss.

///

It was still a dream. One that he feared he would wake from. 

Love, _real_ love. With a woman who was strong and wise, as equally as she was beautiful and beguiling.

The tide of events that had brought them to this moment, suddenly seemed to pause. Reality hit like the pounding waves of the ocean against the hull of the Jolly. She cared. She was real and human and open - more than he ever imagined he would ever have. He pressed her back into the mattress. Reveling in her revealed flesh, fingering the last buttons of her nightgown, memorizing the way the candlelight adored her flesh.

Slowly, he cherished her, exploring every inch of skin, mentally recording her responses, trailing over each curve with a slow rake of fingers and lips, peeling away the last of her coverings until her only disguise was that of the half-dark room and the hazy lust in his eyes.

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell her. Ways he wanted to make her feel-

Stilling his mind, he took a deep breath, scented with her simple floral perfum, and slowly turned to lay her on her back.

“How did I become so lucky?” he murmured to himself, trailing his hands over her thighs and waist, enjoying the way she shivered from his touch.

“It’s not luck Killian, it’s fate. Now make haste, the room is cold and the only remedy I see is your body upon mine.” Her tone was playful, but there was a searing undercurrent of passion that quickened his pulse.

“Aye love,” he nodded, snatching a longing kiss as she shifted farther onto the bed, giving him a moment to remove his trousers, leaving them both bare to each other; in more ways that one.

Further kisses and caresses were intermingled with loving words and tender sighs as they explored one another as if it were their first time; the secret fear it could be their last remaining buried inside. For Killian still bore the steely self confidence of a pirate captain, for whom failure was never an option.

Beneath him, she arched her body as he buried himself deeply. Taking her slowly as they stared into one another’s eyes, her hips rocked in time with his. Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight. The gathering tears they wore glistening as they rolled over her eyelids and caught on her flushed cheeks. He kissed the tears away, tasting their bitter, salty tang, trying to sooth her with the whispered mantra:

_I love you, I love you_

///

Coiled together, she counted the beats of his heart; tattooing this night upon her soul.

“Killian?” she whispered into the lingering darkness.

“Aye love?” he replied, the baritone of his voice penetrating her flesh easily.

“I need to know more. Tell me something.”

She waited, a few seconds slowly slipping by, his fingers moving gently over her arm, a small shiver coursing through her.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of, love-“

“That’s in the past,” she cried, rolling around to face her love, catching the pained expression of his brow.

“Most are not as easily forgiving as you, my darling.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. 

Wriggling closer to him, she wrapped her fingers in his pendants and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Many scores will forever leave a black mark against my name, but there are some I can settle. I have a hoard, buried on a remote island. I plan to return it’s more important treasures.”

“You know my father would pardon you in an instant-“

“In this realm, love. But what of the others? How can I openly love you with a price on my head.”

The words washed over her. Of course this made perfect sense - it was what she herself had expected. If he made some retribution to the kingdoms affected by his piracy, then along with her father’s word, he could, she hoped, return to an honourable life. For that is what he wanted, wasn’t it?

She noticed that his body remained stiff and rigid, the tension running in his veins radiated from him and she found her own body tightening in response.

“What else?”

He sighed deeply, tucking her head under his chin.

“Nothing love, that is all. I promise.”

With that his body softened a little, moulding tighter to hers, his arousal beginning to press into her flesh. Still, she wasn’t sure if she truly believed him. God, she wanted to. But a small corner of her heart felt his hesitance.

Pushing away her fears, she slipped her arms around his neck, “Okay,” she whispered, before rolling him onto his back. Silently, she rose and settled her hips above his, taking his length in hand and working it to hardness. Her hair became a cloak around the pair as she moved in for a kiss, slowly sinking his body into hers as their tongues and lips entwined.

Wordlessly she rocked her body. Each movement an oath.

_I love you._

_I trust you._

_Come back to me._

Heat and passion rose as she pressed herself harder against him, working out her frustration, determined to leave her mark. Her fingernails dug into his chest as his hand grasped her hip. The pace was dizzying, spinning her out of her body for a moment, easing the pain as she forgot briefly the cause.

Release was both a blessing and a curse. Reaching her peak, she cried out his name as he stiffened beneath, before collapsing once again into his arms: tired and aching, with numb toes and short of breath. Sleep soon claimed her, her fingers entwined with his.

///

He woke her just before dawn. His eyes red raw from the lack of sleep. He’d watched her for the few hours she had slept, committing her image to memory - worried he might forget if he didn’t study her intently. 

She clung to him when he announced the time was near, silent tears dripping down her cheeks, drawing out his own denied tears that mingled with hers as they kissed.

Would it be the last time? Would she wait…

A thousand questions. Ones that could not be answered with certainty.

“You will be at the docks?” he asked, pressing kisses to her bare shoulders as she huddled tightly against him.

“Of course.”

He pulled her tightly to his chest, steadying himself, refusing to let his fears get the better of him, refusing to believe that fate could be so cruel as to rip happiness away from him once more.

“Then I must go and make final preparations. I’ll see you soon?”

Emma nodded as he cupped her cheeks, barely drawing the strength to pull away.

Promising himself that this sacrifice would be worthwhile, that through it, he would finally be worth of such a woman as Emma.

 


End file.
